


Keep Your Sorries

by omega12596



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Period, Blink And You'll Miss It "Sanctuary" Reference, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, I hate tagging, M/M, Pretty much ignores any and all details about S4 and S5, Science and Magic, Was Going To Be Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omega12596/pseuds/omega12596
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles comes to Beacon Hills this time, it's not to see his dad and avoid the people he'd once called family. He's there to help, hopefully with as little interaction between himself, Scott, Derek, and everyone else as possible.</p><p>He may be twenty-eight and it might have been ten years, but Stiles should have known Beacon Hills wouldn't lose its 'best laid plans of mice and men' effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Your Words Are Robbery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/613098) by [dedougal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal). 



> A/N - I really hate tagging (notice the tag?) but I'm pretty sure I covered all the important bits. Parts of this might be emotionally intense, but that depends solely on the readers interpretation of the content.
> 
> This isn't strictly derivative of dedougal's work, but that piece is one of my favorites in this particular niche. Super well written and just so good! That said, I've often thought a lot of the 'Stiles returns' fics seem to move into the happy (and trust, when I'm reading, I am totally all for that, lol) reconciliation kind of quick. So I decided to take it from a different perspective - one that takes a little time, without too much melodrama (I hope), for folks to get to the moving forward stage.
> 
> Anyway, enough outta me. I hope you enjoy :)

"I was wrong. I'm sorry." Derek didn't offer the words as supplication or, really, even with regret. They were more a statement of fact. They were also the first words spoken between him and Derek Hale in little more than a decade.

And Stiles got it. They were older, wiser, more mature, what the fuck ever. They were all grown up, big boys in big pants, and part of him appreciated the older man owning his mistakes and confessing to them aloud.

But a deeper part, maybe a darker part, certainly a more fragile part-- the cusp-of-eighteen Stiles who had come to Derek after the last slice of cake was crumbs, deep in twilight on the evening of his high-school graduation, and laid himself bare - love and hope and fear in equal measure- only to have his offer of something more, something better be flung in his face -- was unimpressed by the dark-haired, beta-Alpha-beta(human)-beta-now-Alpha-once-more's offering.

Stiles flexed his fingers, looking down at the winding vines wrapped lovingly around the digits, before returning his gaze to Derek's. "Keep your sorries. I'm not interested."

He heard Scott whine and glanced over at the room's other occupant. He'd forgotten his once-best-friend was even there. Tension clung to Scott's shoulders and his face was drawn with sorrow, certainly, but also a tinge of anger at Stiles' rather uncompromising stance.

"Stiles-"

"Naw, man. I didn't come here for warm reunions or reconciliations. I came because this place was my home once. You people were my family once. My _father_ lives here. One of two good things I have left in my life. Since I doubt you have a fucking clue what you're dealing with, I had to come help. So I could give a fuck about your super special, double-Alpha pack, but there is zero chance I'm leaving my dad's ass hangin' in the breeze."

"Stiles, you left us. We didn't leave you." Scott's anger got the better of his compassion and his eyes briefly flared red at their edges before guilt smothered the flames.

"Yeah, you did. First with Allison, then Kira, then the next cluster fuck, dead pools, Benefactors, Dread Doctors..." Stiles' words faded as he squared his shoulders and shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter. I'm not here assigning blame or handing out judgment. It was made clear to me I was unwanted; I wasn't _pack_ but I am a smart, ruthless, resourceful guy. I followed the fucked up goings on in Beacon Hills. You need me this time, so I came."

"I needed you every time, Stiles."

He shrugged his shoulders but didn't look away from Scott's face. "Sure, Scott. Like I needed you to realize I left in something less than the two weeks it took for you to text me, what was it? Oh, yeah, I remember, 'bro, me and Kira just had the best time! Where are you?'"

Shame bruised Scott's cheeks and he turned his gaze to the floor.

"Even then, I forgave you. But I couldn't be here. And over the years, well, life happens, Scott. Shit happens. You got married, settled down, this fucking place stopped being a hellmouth twenty-four-seven. I get it. Time and distance and you stop thinking about the ones that are gone every day. I thought we'd covered this yesterday."

He said enough. Stiles was not the same spastic, ADHD teen he had been. He'd learned the kind of control - over himself, his emotions, his powers- many of the supernatural things he hunted dreamed they could gain. So he'd be damned if he was going to lose his temper or dig up bones with either of two men with whom he currently shared space. Instead, he shifted his feet a bit and cocked his hip against the edge of Derek's lovely brown leather sectional.

"Now, to the matter at hand. I'm guessing your emissary," he filled the word with all the venom he could, "hasn't been super forthcoming. As usual. So I'll give it to you straight, lay out a couple of options, and leave you two to hash out how you wanna handle this shitstorm. Dad and I are having dinner in a bit and I'm not gonna leave him waiting."

Movement in his periphery shifted Stiles' focus. Derek's hands tightened into fists, fingers curled to whitened knuckles and pressed against his thighs. Stiles took a moment to glance up at Hale's face. It was so unguarded, so open, he suppressed a flinch and quickly looked away, eyes unseeing as he glanced around the large open space that no doubt made up the heart of the rebuilt Hale home. Stiles didn't want to register what he saw on Derek's visage, refused to acknowledge any of it. He couldn't, for all he'd just reminded himself how far he had come, he knew his strengths and weaknesses and he wasn't about to tackle all the levels of fucked up that was one Derek Hale.

Instead, Stiles crossed his feet at the ankles and spoke to the room at large.

"You're dealing with an _asura_ or a devotee of one - the Vedic kind, not Zoroastrian. So basically a demon. Not necessarily garden variety, mind you, but there you have it. I've... had some experience with them so I can handle it. There's a _leshy_ deep in the forest here I can probably tap for aid. It won't take too long to exorcise him, the _asura_ , but it will take power. I'm strong, but not a demigod, and that means some kind of sacrifice. If that isn't to your liking, Pacifist Alpha," he shifted his eyes to look at Scott, "there is another option."

"What is it?"

"I appeal to the _devas_. The opposing, benevolent being. But that means calling even more powerful, supernatural shit here, which will only make our Beacon flare brighter. The _devas_ will confront the _asura_ , they'll do what they do, hopefully Vishnu doesn't get invoked, ta-da. You'll have to handle the fallout."

"No sacrifice?" Scott crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the dark wood of the half-wall/breakfast bar between the great room and the large, open kitchen.

"No sacrifice." Stiles straightened away from the sofa. "I'll leave you two to discuss. I'm at Dad's 'til this is done."

He didn't bother saying goodbye as he made his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm back," Stiles called out as he closed the front door behind him.

"How'd it go?" Sheriff Stilinski stepped from the kitchen, beer held out toward his son.

"Fine, Dad. I told them what was up, gave them a couple options. Scott will probably call or whatever tomorrow." He took the outstretched beverage and swallowed a healthy gulp as the two men made their way toward the living room.

"And Derek?"

"Dad, please, let it be." Stiles dropped onto the sofa and drank down the rest of the beer in two long pulls.

"Son, it's been a decade."

"And it'll be about six or seven more. It is what it is. Please, I don't want to do this with you again."

Heat crept up John's neck and had nothing to do with embarrassment. "I want you to be happy!"

Stiles sighed deeply and rubbed both palms over his face. Fuck his life, every time he came home his father brought up this same beaten, battered, argument. And every time, Stiles let him. But he'd just spent a half hour in the presence of a man he hadn't seen or spoken to in ten years and Stiles simply didn't have the energy to rehash the topic again.

He dropped his hands and looked into his father's face, less than a second from finally putting his foot down, when he heard the tell-tale _tick, tick, tick_ of claws on the hardwood floors. He looked to the left as Nomey appeared around the arm of the sofa. Their gazes met and her unwavering support washed over him, as well as a sharp tug, not unlike a warning nip, deep in his core where they were connected.

Shaking his head, Stiles watched the vixen approach. She was a red fox, though she didn't really look it, but she was so much more than that. _Kitsune_. Not like Kira and her family, who had a fox spirit somewhere long past in the family tree - one who had children and passed on some of her magic and power, enough for her progeny to slip skin, live very long lives, and so forth.

No, his Nomey was _zenko_. She literally was a guardian spirit of the _Inari_ , not human in any way. Her coat of pure white, shot through with strands of silver like tinsel, spoke of her age, the green of her eyes a reflection of her benevolent wisdom. Her socked legs were ebony, as was the triskelion whirl on her forehead - markings Nomey gained when she agreed to become his familiar.

"Hey, girl."

She loped to the sofa, sat at his knee and he laid one palm between her ears. The two of them had really seen some shit over the years and creating the familiar bond with her had been no picnic, but Stiles thanked the gods for her every single day. She pushed into his touch and elegantly stepped onto the couch beside him, laying her forelegs and head in his lap.

His dad huffed, drawing Stiles' attention from the fox. "I... I know I shouldn't keep bringing it up. But goddamn it, this is not okay. You have to talk to him, Stiles. Deal with this. You can't - no, you can, but I don't want you to keep running. I want you to come home. Please."

"I do come home, three or four times a year. And I'm not running. I haven't been running for a long time. I have accepted things, Dad, and I make the best of the situation. I've got a job, one that pays really fucking well and takes me all over the world on someone else's dime. I have a loyal partner that has my back come hell or high water," he gave Nomey a gentle pat when she huffed at this, "and I've enough power and ability to put some of the nastiest motherfuckers, you could ever nightmare up, back on their heels. I'm content, for what it's worth."

"Content is not happy, Stiles."

"No. It isn't."

"And you're sure that can't change?" John sank back in the recliner, then leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

"Like you said, it's been a decade. It took me a long time to figure out why Derek did what he did. Took even longer trying to fix it myself. But fate, destiny, quantum mechanics, whatever it is can't be undone. So I take my pleasures as they come and that's it."

"Quantum physics?"

For the first time that day, it seemed, Stiles' lips curved with a small grin. "Well, we're like entangled, sub-molecularly, at least to a degree. It fits. Trust me, I've had plenty of time to research this shit."

"And you don't think-"

Stiles cut his hand through the air. "No, I don't think. Not about him, not about the pack, not about all the things I miss out on and will continue to miss out on. Okay?"

"Alright, Stiles. I'll let it be."

The younger Stilinski snorted. "For now."

His father grunted in reply. "The lasagna should be about done. I gotta go in overnight tonight. You gonna be okay?"

Stiles nudged Nomey, who looked to be dozing but was not in fact sleeping at all. She got up, bussing her muzzle against his cheek before slipping away deeper into the house. "Sure, Pops. I'll be fine. Let's go eat some of your amazing food."

He stood and motioned for his dad to come close, pulling the older man into a tight embrace before clapping him on the back a couple of times.

"I love you, son." His dad pressed a quick kiss to his temple, fingers tightening against his shoulders.

"Love you too, Dad."


	3. Chapter 3

_You know your father has a point_

Stiles cut a glare toward Nomey. "Not you too. Can't you just pat me on the back for even being in the same room with him?" He cleared the dishes from the table and moved to the cabinet next to the fridge, searching for some tupperware to square the leftovers. The sheriff had left about ten minutes ago and Stiles kind of wanted to have another beer (or twelve) and just veg out. 

_Stiles._

He shook his head, huffing his somewhat longish bangs out of his eyes. He almost wished the _kitsune_ would take a human shape when she was gearing up for a lecture (and he knew without doubt she was). Considering she preferred to be a little, old Japanese man - since gender and age mattered nothing to Nomey- it was a bit surreal. And super weird, both times she'd done it. 

Really, though, Stiles felt less weird having a conversation with an elderly gentleman than he did conversing aloud while she spoke in his head. Not that he couldn't do the same, but really, a lot had changed but he was still Stiles and talking out loud was a thing he did, like all the time, even in sleep. 

"Look, you and I both know the whole _magna_ thing is so fucking complicated... It's just easier for my dad to wrap his head around it this way. I don't know how to explain the way Derek and I are... connected and that it had nothing to do with magic and yet everything to do with it." 

_That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. You came here without being asked and it wasn't just for your father. Lie to the others, to yourself, but you cannot lie to me._

Energy jangled along his nerves and Stiles turned on the water, adding soap and grabbing a rag from the drawer next to his right hip. There weren't enough dishes to run the washer and doing the menial chore would keep him from pacing or tapping his feet while he and Nomey spoke. 

"Fine. I didn't just come for dad. It's been getting... difficult, lately. The constant thrumming pull to be here, the nagging sensation that I'm not all of me. I hoped - I hoped that maybe seeing him, watching him ignore and dismiss me again might take care of it. And yes, I know you told me the myths about rejection were unlikely to be true, but I had to try." 

_I understand but _magna_ are not magic. You and Derek chose to entangle yourselves at a quantum level long before you ever realized you were so much more than human. We've discussed this._

"Yeah, and it still boggles my fucking mind! I mean, some of my atoms are part of him, some of his part of me, blah blah blah, quantum physics, blah blah blah, entangled particles, blah blah blah, metaphysical energy caused deeper, and more numerous, molecular exchanges... Fuck, I'm getting a headache." 

Magna _is a choice, one made from the core of ourselves, unconscious. It's not soulmates - not a mate bond- it isn't some predestined, fated thing. It only happens between beings who give selflessly, put another’s welfare above their own._

"I know. I get it. I'm pretty sure my parents had the same kind of thing. I just - if we were both human, this shit would be no big deal. I mean, yeah, we’d probably still feel like we were missing something important, but it wouldn’t be so fucking pervasive, so unignorable! People exchange atoms all the time, one or two here, five or six there, and never notice. People mate, shifters mate, animals mate and sometimes it's a deep, lifelong thing and sometimes it isn't." 

_True enough._ Magna _however are something entirely unique and so astoundingly rare. They are a choice, freely made. This bond is forged beyond magic and science. Humans, preternaturals, animals, any life force can experience such a connection, but so very few do. Not because they don't want it, long for it, but because pure altruism foments the process, but repeated altruistic action is necessary to make it real and give it power._

"I know, I know. Cut his arm off if necessary, but only as a last resort. Do whatever it takes to bring him 'round every time he almost died on me. Protected him from the Kanima. Had to drag myself away in Mexico..." 

_Defending you from his beta, his uncle, yourself, refusing to kill you to rid the world of the nogitsune, leaving in the hope that without him you might finally find some peace._

"Yeah, lotta peace that brought." Nomey made a grumbling noise and he lifted his hands from the dishwater, holding them up in supplication. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Neither of us did those things for each other to benefit ourselves, only to 'give to the other,' you've harangued me about it ad nauseum." 

Dipping his fingers back into the water, Stiles was surprised to find he'd done all the dishes on autopilot. So he pulled the plug and rinsed his hands, drying them on the towel stuffed into the fridge handle. He looked at Nomey and shrugged. 

"Listen, I'll make you deal. We get through this shit with the _asura_ and before I take another job, I'll make a serious effort to discuss it with Derek. I won't promise to be nice or to really chat it out," he held up his right pointer finger when she growled at him, "but I'll at least find out if he even knows what we, whatever this... You know what I mean." 

Nomey tilted her head down and a bit to the left. If she'd been human, she'd have had crossed arms, a pursed mouth, and an eyebrow lifted. _That is acceptable_.

"Great. Now I'm gonna have another beer and watch some tv. You gonna hang around or?" 

She shifted on her haunches. _I think I'll go for a fly. It'll be good to stretch my wings._

"Owl?” At her nod, he motioned to her hind end. “You know you don't have to hide your tails from Dad." 

_I do from your neighbors and... others._

Stiles flushed hotly at that. He knew Nomey wasn't making a dig, not really, but it still made him feel like a shit. They'd been a team for almost eight years, but in all that time, the only person in Beacon Hills who knew about her was his dad. He refused to take her out with him when he had to be about town expressly so if he ran into one of his old packmates he wouldn't have to explain Nomey - or himself. 

Hell, the look on Scott's face when he'd shown up on his doorstep two days ago had been enough to make Stiles feel about a foot tall. And the other man's reaction to Stiles' offer of aid had been worse. 

#  **

_"What? No! Wait, what? Aren't you human?"_

_"Uh, no, not exactly. Look, this is what I do, like for a living."_

_"What? You mean like the Winchesters?"_

_Stiles had chuckled softly at that and rubbed the palm of his hand over his head. "Sort of, but I get paid. A lot. And this ain’t no Supernatural. If only salt worked so well for me."_

_"But you get paid, money, to track down weird shit and, what, deal with it?"_

_Stiles had looked up at Scott, tracked a child (Ally) shuffling around the living room behind them - trying to eavesdrop no doubt. He shrugged his shoulders. "Pretty much."_

_"But-"_

_Scott had stopped, clenched his fists, eyes flashing red between blinks. Stiles might have missed it if he weren't watching so closely. But Scott, well, he was still the same guy he'd always been. Instead of asking the question they both knew he wanted to, he'd simply nodded his head._

_"Okay. I'll call Derek, set a pack-"_

_Stiles cut him off, "No. No pack. Just you and him."_

_Scott hadn't liked it but he'd agreed. He'd disliked Stiles leaving before a proper family meet and greet even more, but Stiles refused to stay. He knew he was being a massive dick, but he ignored his pricking conscience as he left Scott's house._

#  **

_Stiles?_

"Huh? Oh, yeah, any info you can gather while you're out and about would be great." 

_I'll see if the_ leshy _is amenable to an exchange._

"Great. Thanks, Nomey." 

She trotted from the kitchen and he grabbed another beer. Striding to the living room, he settled on the sofa and picked up the remote off the coffee table. A frisson of energy signaled Nomey shifting and leaving the house. Probably through his bedroom window. The idea made him grin a bit to himself. That window had seen an awful lot of traffic during his late teens. 

A half hour, or maybe three hours, later, Stiles turned off the television and grabbed up the four empty bottles on the table. More than a half hour then, he thought. He checked the doors and cast a quick protection spell on the house, before tossing the amber containers in the recycling bin. Suddenly feeling on the verge of exhaustion, Stiles turned off the lights and headed up the stairs to his room.


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't bother with the overhead, instead moving toward the computer desk by the brightness outside and memory. He rubbed his fingertips over the worn surface where he'd spent so many sleepless nights researching - or watching porn - and toed off his shoes. Stiles grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and turned toward the door, thinking a shower would be nice, when he heard the window slide open. 

"Usually you tap the glass," he chuckled and lifted the hem a couple inches. 

"Usually I lurk in the corner." 

"The fuck! Jesus fuck all Christ, Derek!" Stiles stumbled backward, all uncoordinated limbs and fight-or-flight reaction. "How the hell did you get in here?" 

The other man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Ground, tree, roof, window." 

Each word came drier than the previous and Stiles found himself fighting some sort of temporal rift where part of him wanted to bark a very loud laugh and the other part wanted to cast a quick spell to check for curses, doppelgangers, time-travelers or some other nefarious action to explain Derek Hale cracking a fucking joke. 

In his flummoxed state, Stiles simply stood there, gaping, while Derek looked everywhere but at him and the awkwardness grew exponentially. Finally, figuring nearly drowning once was more than enough (literally or figuratively) Stiles pulled his shit together and cleared his throat. 

"Right. That wasn't what I meant. I put a ward," as soon as the words left his lips, Stiles could have smacked himself in the head. "Never mind. So, Derek, what was so pressing a little B&E was necessary?" 

He watched Derek shift in place and while he waited for his visitor to reply, Stiles let himself really take in the other man as he hadn't earlier. Derek hadn't changed much, his musculature was heavier, sure, but the last time he'd seen him, Hale had been a beta. In the dim light from the half-full moon and street lamps, Stiles couldn't see his eyes, but he was sure they were still some undefined shade of green-blue-gray, still limned with thick, midnight lashes, still guarded by heavy, animated brows. 

His jaw was clean shaven, something Stiles hadn't seen very much, which made him look younger than his 33 years - though lycanthropy slowed the aging process significantly so a scruff-free face didn't matter much. His hair was longer than Stiles could ever remember it being, thick and drifting in beautiful waves to just past his shoulders, bangs tucked behind his ears. 

Stiles' gaze moved from Derek's face to his chest and arms, noting the man’s collared pullover was tight enough to flatter without being a second skin. He marked the nip at his waist, the way his jeans still stretched obscenely across his groin and thighs, took in the heavy work boots and the lack of leather jacket. Yeah, Derek Hale was still stop-traffic gorgeous. 

"Stiles - Stiles, I... Damn it," Derek's breath huffed from his chest on a gust and he shoved the fingers of his left hand through his hair, mussing it, leaving it falling partly over his face. He stepped back into the window, resting lightly on the frame, and blew another exhale, causing those long, dark strands to flutter. 

"You're as loquacious as ever, I see. It's too dark in here for me to read your eyebrows though, so I'll make it easy on you. I don't know what it is you want or need or whatever, but it's been ten years, Derek. Let it go." Stiles wasn't taking pity on the other man, or his obvious discomfort. He was simply too tired for this shit (and was really glad he hadn't taken off his shirt too). "I'm gonna take a shower. It would be for the best if you left the way you came before I get back." 

Stiles dug into his pockets to empty them, shifting away from Derek, dismissing the Alpha, before taking a few steps toward the hall. Maybe he really was tired, maybe he didn't expect Derek to respond, maybe despite everything he still knew, deep down, the other man would never bring him physical harm. No matter the reason, Stiles didn't hear Derek move, he didn't sense the grasp before long, warm fingers wrapped around his bicep, but his reaction was reflexive after so many years fighting the good fight against the worst kinds of things - human and not. 

His fingers were balled up and the blow landed before Stiles could think to stop it. He felt the skin over his knuckles break, knew the second his blood, thick and hot and filled with his life force, surged beyond the barrier of flesh. Equally, he registered the soft, full tissue of Derek's mouth give beneath the blow, felt the strength of his teeth as an immovable object meeting Stiles' unstoppable force, sensed a reciprocal welling of hemoglobin from the werewolf's injury and then time, space, hell maybe all of existence stopped on a dime. 

Stiles rocked back on his heels, hip-checking the corner of the desk and bouncing off, stumbling, tripping over a shoe, before slamming to his knees, one arm outstretched to stop his face meeting the wooden foot board of his bed. _Too late, it’s too late_. That was about all the time he had to register anything more before what felt like a neutron bomb detonated somewhere in the middle of his body and radiated at light speed outward toward his extremities. 

Ears ringing, temporarily blind, Stiles struggled to draw breath as power and knowledge, flashes of the past, emotions, thoughts, fucking _memories_ and potentialities spun through his head at EF 5 speeds. He had no idea how Derek was faring, but he truly fucking hoped it was ten-fold worse for the Alpha. 

A _touch_ , lightning and thunder and warmth, home and peace, cut through the devastation and a distinct sound hit his ear, travelled to his brain, and clicked like a key in a lock. 

_“Hoc vinculum unum duo.”_

“With this bond, we two are one.” Stiles could barely keep up and down straight, but the words flowed from his mouth unbidden.

_“Ut sic oportet fieri.”_

“As I will, so mote it be.” He didn’t want to say the words, but he couldn’t stop them. Stiles coughed, tried to shake his head to clear it, had a fleeting thought that if translations were literal, he should have said ‘in this connection, two,’ and ‘as such, it must be done,’ before the flesh pressed between his shoulders dropped away and he slumped to the floor. 

Struggling to find the strength to move, he wiggled a bit and blinked until his vision cleared enough to at least make out shapes, before seeking out the other lump of darkness collapsed close to his hip. 

“When I wake up,” he had to draw on deep reserves to get the syllables passed his lips this time, “I am going to fuck. You. Up. Hale.” 

And then there was darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s been two days, Scott.” 

“I know you’re worried, Sheriff, but Nomey said they’re fine and since she also made it painfully clear Dr. Deaton was to come nowhere near them, we have to trust her advice.” 

“I would never do anything or allow anything to bring Stiles harm.” 

The Sheriff looked at the small, aged, frail-looking Asian man currently sitting at the kitchen table and wondered, for about the millionth time since his son had turned 13, what the hell was his life. 

“Uh, yes, I mean, no. Shit, just - do you know how weird it is to see you sitting there right now? I thought you were female.” John glanced at the cupboard over the refrigerator and seriously considered taking down the single malt and drinking half the bottle. 

The elderly man chuckled and took another drink of his hot tea. “Your son feels the same. Truthfully, I don’t care to take human form, but I felt it would be best right now.” 

“So, you’re really a _kitsune_?” 

Kira stepped into the kitchen, arms laden with grocery sacks. “Scott, we’ve been over this. Nomey is _kitsune_. Like legit. My family, and those like us, use the same term and technically it’s correct, but… Think of it like this: Nomey is a wolf, and people like me and my mom, we’re dogs. Same genus, a lot of the same instincts and abilities, but not the same. Not as powerful or as old or as… pure, I guess.” 

Scott took his wife’s burdens, kissing her softly on the lips before turning to the table and beginning to unbag the food. “Okay, I think I understand.” 

“Good,” Kira smiled at Nomey. “Still no change?” 

“Perhaps another day. _Magna_ unifications are a powerful thing, moreso when magicks are involved. If they were both human, they’d have come around in a few hours, well rested and probably feeling wonderful.” 

“Instead,” John snagged the two loaves of bread and put them in the bread box, “Stiles is going to wake up aching for a fight. He’s going to be -” 

“Really pissed off.” Scott’s word came softly and he looked at the floor. “Fuck, I feel like such a piece of shit. If I’d known, if I’d bothered, taken two minutes away from thinking of myself, I could have done something back then. Made Derek get over the martyr act, been there for Stiles…” His voice trailed off as he glanced up at Kira. When the young woman threaded their fingers together, the moisture clinging to his lashes was unmistakable. 

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda are a waste of time, kid. Besides, you aren’t the only one carrying some blame in this. Yeah, those two idiots should have gotten their heads out of their asses years ago, but I could have, should have been more involved, more apart of his life. If I had, if I’d stepped up as a parent after his mom died, instead of being thankful when Stiles did it himself, maybe he would have talked to me when everything went to shit and we could have figured it out.” 

“We all played a role; we all have blame.” Kira squeezed Scott’s hand and pressed her side close to his. “We all knew there was something more there, between them, and instead of supporting Derek and helping him heal so he could accept what Stiles so obviously wanted to give him, we snapped and snarled and pretended to be a pack. And we took Stiles for granted.” 

Nomey cleared her throat and settled deeper against the back of the chair. “I think you all need to understand that circumstances were what they were. _Magna_ aren’t mates,” she gestured to Scott and Kira, “the bond is deeper than that, stronger, more powerful and may not involve romantic feelings at all.” 

John coughed and she glanced his way, inclining her head. 

“I didn’t mean that was the case here, just that it does not have to be so. When Stiles approached Derek all those years ago, he knew nothing of what they had built between them. He genuinely wanted to make Derek’s life better. He wanted to fill up all young Hale’s cracks with love and acceptance and humor and defiance - all the best parts of himself. 

“And I imagine Derek refused because he wanted Stiles to have everything Hale believed he deserved - a great education, a partner who was capable of showing his emotions and sharing words of devotion, a life free of the darkness you all had to deal with so often over those first few years, away from the constant threat of death. 

“It was and is their repeated selflessness with regard to each other that did this. Not fate, nor destiny. While I suspect the desire to be mated from a supernatural perspective was likely involved, their attraction and desire would never have been enough to create something so exceptional. I have lived many, many years and have never seen a single _magna_.” She stopped and looked at John. “Since I joined with Stiles, became his familiar, I have met three. That you still stand speaks to the power of the connection you had with Claudia - so much of her lives on in you.” 

He swallowed hard and blinked back the sudden wetness in his own eyes. “I felt like I died too, the second she stopped breathing, but I couldn’t abandon our boy.” He looked away from those wise green eyes and smiled self-deprecatingly. “She’d probably kick my ass because I kind of did that anyway, for a few years. Still, after those first few days, I realized I could still feel her, every time my heart beat or I drew breath. I still hurt, hell it was agony, but I knew I wasn’t alone. 

“Time passed and I found a very deep sense of peace about it. I could date again, marry, fall in love, but I don’t think it would be fair to another person, knowing part of me did die with Claudia and part of her lives on in me. I couldn’t ever give all of me. And I’m good with that. Happy. Well, most of the time.” 

He glanced at the ceiling and everyone laughed softly. 

“Changing the topic,” Scott gave a small smile as he looked from Kira to Nomey, “Stiles said something about devos and a fleshy? I guess he handles this kind of stuff all the time but with him unavailable, do you have any ideas on how we deal with the demon? The Sheriff really doesn’t need another death to investigate and I’d like to stop this thing sooner rather than later.” 

“ _Devas_ and _leshy_. As Stiles familiar, I am somewhat limited. However, I have my own talents, powerful ones, and I could ask the _Inari_ for aid, but perhaps this could be something your druid should get involved with?” 

“You really don’t like him, do you?” John had to ask. He thought Deaton was a little too serious about his whole neutrality schtick, but overall he seemed like a good guy. 

“Balance is one thing, but an emissary who stands by and allows his wards, those he should protect, to die has no interest in balance or has lost sight of what balance truly means. A guide who offers only vagaries is no guide at all. Like or dislike has no bearing. I do not trust him.” 

“But you aren’t telling us not to?” Kira’s mouth quirked with confusion. 

“It is not my place to sway your opinion or tell your Alpha what to do. I offer my observations, suggest a course of action. It is your choice to make, your truths to discover.” 

The other _kitsune_ gave a slow nod of understanding. “Come on, Scott. Let’s go see Deaton and hopefully he’ll have some ideas of how we can resolve this.” 

It looked like Scott wanted to ask more questions, maybe even argue, but Kira just lifted one brow and he knew any effort would be wasted. “Okay. We’ll go now and pick up the girls on our way home. Call if anything changes.” 

John nodded and moved to hug Scott. “First thing, kiddo. Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.” 

As he watched the couple leave, he glanced at Nomey, and hoped he wouldn’t have to eat his words later.


	6. Chapter 6

His body thrummed, bones vibrating, as consciousness crept into the edges of his awareness. Stiles floated and tried to decide if what he felt was pain or something else and decided it wasn’t pain, but neither was it pleasure. He tried to open his eyes, cracked them a fraction before the light in the room forced his lids closed and instead focused on taking deep breaths. 

That didn’t really help. All he could smell was _Derek_ and hints of blood and underneath that, notes of dust and disuse and _Derek_. Warm sun and cut grass, vanilla and ozone and even a little fur - the warm canid scent all dogs carried. Despite the rather epic events before his blackout, Stiles wasn’t confused by the other man’s presence or why he was so slow to come to full wakefulness, 

No, Stiles Stilinski could not be that lucky. He remembered everything that happened, knew exactly what was going on and if anything he was more surprised he wasn’t overwhelmed. He could feel those bits of himself that had been sealed away, finally sticking where they should. Stiles felt whole, could sense all his power, feel it echoing through the ink on his skin, through every pore and muscle, deep down into his bones. 

That did not, however, mean all was rainbows and fucking ponies. It didn’t mean he could all of a sudden parse through everything that was Derek Hale and watch a replay of the Alpha’s shitty history and all truths were revealed. All the information they’d exchanged with blood and words, the specifics of it was washed away, were meant to be from what he understood. 

The information passed between each half of the _magna_ in order to facilitate the final connections, align all the cells in their best possible matrix, give the two a deeper insight into each other. It did not imbue them with the ability to live in each others thoughts, or minds, or pasts. Derek wouldn’t suddenly be able to speak to Stiles telepathically, nor would he be flooded with all the pain and sorrow Stiles had suffered since they’d been apart. 

And Stiles was actually thankful for that. They’d chosen, regardless of intent, to lay the groundwork so long ago and he thought it was right they should still be able to choose going forward. Yes, they were _manga_ \- yes they always would be, but they were still people, still sentient beings with a lot of hurt between them. Having a few words and an exchange of blood just magically make it all better… It would marginalize the growth he’d made(or hadn't) and he hoped Derek had as well. It would make everything that had happened meaningless, of little value. 

After all, if this was all it took to heal up all the ragged cuts and smooth all the jagged edges, then he and Derek must have been monumentally stupid not to just go all in straightaway, and that could in no way honor himself or the Alpha. _Magna_ wasn’t simple (or simply or even at all) magic, and even if it were, no magicks existed for utopia or finger-snapping-fix-alls. He and the very warm body at his side would have to decide to move forward or back, to choose to be more or even less, to heal or to hurt, to accept or ignore because they had free will. 

“You still think too damn loud.” 

“You still smell like dog.” 

Derek gave a small growl and Stiles wanted to chuckle. He didn’t. 

“Still gonna fuck me up?” 

“Once I can open my eyes all the way,” Stiles tried again, got a couple more centimeters before the light was too much. 

“Mmm. Going back to sleep.” 

“Avoidance still a go to. Good to know.” 

He felt the wash of agitation, skin prickling with a tinge of shame. No, he couldn’t read Derek’s mind, but they were both going to be highly attuned to the others body language and feelings, especially strong emotions, which made some sense considering how much of each other’s atomic matter they now shared. 

“Don’t have the energy to argue with you.” 

It was Stiles turn to hum noncommittally. Being more of a magic user, more in tune with all the frequencies of life, he figured he’d probably come out of this final stage a bit quicker than Derek. Not that the Alpha was out of tune, but it was different for shapeshifters than for someone like Stiles. 

“What are you?” 

Stiles tried to shift, could coordinate his body only enough to wobble his head more toward the side Derek laid against. “What do you think?” 

“I can… feel and smell the magic on you, but not like a witch or warlock. Feels closer to Druid, but not right either.”

Stiles wasn’t exactly in the mood to share, and he wasn’t exactly feeling magnanimous either, but his lips moved anyway. “I’m a magus - of multiple disciplines. Actually, an archmagus, but I grew up and don’t feel the need to foist that title off on people to impress them anymore.” 

“So you’re a mage.” 

“Magus. It really isn’t the same but… mage is used kind of erroneously. There are magic uses, good or bad, there are hedge witches and sorcerers, mancers of all types, seers and prophets. What I do, what I am able to do, isn’t necessarily so limited. And I don’t need spells or potions or conjuring, though I use them time to time. I don’t really know how to explain it.” 

“And the ink?” 

Stiles thought about every line he’d had etched into his flesh over the years. “Some of them are memories. Some are reminders. A few have power of their own. But they aren’t like magic or runes or protections, well not specifically. I… I like them. I wanted them. So I got some. Afterward, three or four became more, but initially? Just pictures on my skin.” 

That seemed to be enough and Derek said no more. Instead, they sort of drifted for a bit, but soon enough, the werewolf’s breath evened out. Stiles thought about following him, but his fingers and toes started twitching. Soon enough he could move hands and feet, then legs and arms. It took real effort but eventually Stiles managed to sit up and open his eyes wide. 

They were in his dad’s room. He guessed that made sense after all the twin in his was barely big enough for one full-grown Stiles. He glanced down at his hand, knuckles healed without a mark and noticed he was in sleep pants. Looking to his bedmate, he didn’t see any blood on Derek’s face either. It was nice of his dad, and no doubt Scott - maybe Nomey - to get them cleaned up. 

Shifting from beneath the cover, he swallowed a groan. He wasn’t worried about waking the Alpha, more he wanted to get to the bathroom and maybe shower before his dad started asking questions. 

He tuned into the energy of the house, feeling for other living things, but sensed no one but Derek. Stiles doubted his dad had gone to work, so either he’d run an errand or he was outside in the backyard. Pushing off the bed, he stood, grimacing at the weakness in his legs; they must have been bedridden a few days. A shower, a shave, and some food and he’d be back to normal, physically at least. 

Shuffling over carpet, Stiles made his way to the bathroom, and after a bit of fumbling, finally stood under the hot, pounding spray and released a long, heavy sigh. Gods, it felt so good, invigorating even. He hummed a little tune as he scrubbed his skin and washed his hair, feeling lighter and more refreshed as he turned off the taps than he had in a long time. Maybe he hadn’t needed Derek’s blood, maybe all he’d needed was to sleep for three or four days uninterrupted. 

Stiles swiped the collected moisture from the medicine cabinet’s mirror and cracked the bathroom door before he set about shaving. As the razor slipped over his skin, he really looked at his face and neck and a little lower… 

“What the hell?” Smoothing his palm over the mirror, he edged forward to get a clearer look at the mark, brow creasing at the shape, it’s bold black outline filled with grey-green-blue pigment. 

In the divot of his collarbone was a dark dot, nearly filling the space. To its left and right, midway between the first mark and his armpits, were two slightly smaller spheres. Three long lines, the ones filled with color, moved down his torso, the outer lines crossing his nipple to end just below his pecs and the third arrowed straight over his heart, stopping exactly when it met the electric blue, ruby red, and citrine gold triskele - his first tattoo - that covered his heart. 

Stiles leaned back and took the whole thing in, shaking his head a bit. The symbol wasn’t lost on him, he had a smaller one between his shoulder blades. And the _awen_ fit, the celtic symbol of balance and unity appropriate where it lay above the one for motion, change, and evolution. 

Looking back in the mirror, he quickly finished shaving and brushed his teeth before wandering to his bedroom to sift through his travel bag for clean clothes. He noticed his room had been tidied and the clothes he’d been wearing the night Derek stopped in were folded neatly at the foot of his bed. 

He choose a well-worn band tee, _Rise Against_ , and the jeans from his bed, foregoing underwear and socks because he rarely bothered with the first and didn’t care about the latter. A couple swipes of deodorant and Stiles felt ready to face… anything really. But first - food. He was starving. 

Tripping down the stairs, he went straight for the fridge, brows lifting at all the sustenance he saw. Snagging a couple kinds of deli meat and some cheese, he set about making a sandwich before grabbing a bag of barbeque chips and two bottles of water. Hands full, he walked through the kitchen to the patio doors, using his right pinky to pull the door ajar enough to wedge his foot in and push it open. 

Nomey (little old man version) and his dad sat at the picnic table. They both looked at him as he approached and while John looked like he was barely holding back the need to gather Stiles to him, Nomey just nodded. No doubt she’d known the moment he started moving around upstairs. 

“Here, give me some of that.” John stood and took the chips and water, depositing them on the tabletop before throwing his arms around his son and squeezing him hard enough to make Stiles’ ribs ache. 

“Dad, Dad, I’m fine. I promise.” 

“Yeah, I know. Nomey kind of explained, well, enough that I stopped going out of my mind. You’re damn lucky she’s the one who found you two. I would have probably thought you were dead.” 

“I asked Scott to come help me get you and Derek clean and moved. I thought it was likely he had seen the other werewolf in various states of undress.” 

So Nomey had called Scott. Not what Stiles expected but he probably should have. And her reason was smart; it made sense. He took a big bite of his sandwich and gestured for his dad to open the chips. 

“So, this whole thing was an unexpected fly in the ointment. Any new developments?” 

“Deaton was pretty much no help and Scott seems… Well, he seemed pretty pissed off about that. Since he wasn’t any help, Kira called Lydia and she and Parrish came over. Nomey here said she got the _leshy_ to lend its aid and the six of them did something out in the Preserve night before last.” 

Stiles didn’t bother to comment on even more of the Beacon Hills pack somehow being pulled into this and probably coming to visit him while he’d been unconscious. 

“How long have I been out?” Stiles stuffed the last bite of food between his lips and reached for a bottle, cracking the top and washing everything down. 

“Five days.” Nomey leaned forward and patted the back of his empty hand. “I thought you’d have been up after three.” 

“Guess I was tired,” he gave her a quick glare before looking back at his dad. “So, what happened?” 

“I don’t know, but the demon thing is gone and I have his human followers in custody for the murders.” 

“All taken care of, then? Well, I guess you didn’t need me after all.” 

“We always need you.” The sentiment echoed what Scott had stated almost a week ago, but the voice carrying them was softer, deeper. 

“Derek. It’s good to see you up, son. Ah, Nomey and I are going to run to the store. You boys… Well, try to leave the house in one piece.” He bent down to kiss Stiles’ head before walking past the Alpha and into the house. 

Nomey glanced at John, then to Stiles. _I can stay, if you’d rather._

He was tempted to say yes, especially as he felt the rising level of his deep, seething anger. He was almost instantly beyond furious and he knew how his power responded to strong emotions. But he wasn’t a kid anymore and he’d been telling the truth when he told his dad he’d stopped running a long time ago. 

“If I need you, I’ll call.” 

She nodded her little head, the wispy pate of dark hair shifting in the breeze and she rose from the bench and followed John inside. The sliding door closed with a soft snick and Stiles turned his gaze out toward the yard, but didn’t fail to notice the new addition to Derek’s skin in the middle of his ridiculously carved chest (and abs, still with the abs). 

“How long?” 

Derek moved closer, hands jammed in the pockets of his sweat pants. “The next morning. The one on my back, I’m guessing the other night.” He turned, muscles in his shoulders and back rippling. Stiles looked at the awen enveloping his triskele. 

Derek didn’t stay turned away, twisting back to face Stiles, the brand across his sternum and pecs seeming to mock the younger man with every breath the Alpha took. It was one word, each letter carefully centered in the middle of a heart, two hands grasping it, crowned and connected with a tight weave of knots. It was kind of hokey, Stiles thought, or figured someone else might - if they didn’t know Hale, didn’t understand the triskele on his back,weren’t familiar with what the _claddagh_ symbolized. 

Stiles knew, only too well, which made seeing it that much more painful. “Love, loyalty, friendship. Is that a fucking joke?”


	7. Chapter 7

“Stiles, please, let me explain. If all I can get is these few minutes, I need to make the most of them.” 

“Fuck you, Derek.” Stiles turned away, fully away, refusing to look in the other man’s face. 

“Listen to me. I made a mistake. One I paid for-” Stiles made a low, dangerous sound and the air grew heavy with anticipation, but Derek kept talking. “One you paid for, one everyone paid for and continue to do so. I didn’t want to hurt you. Pushing you away is the hardest thing I have ever done, including ripping out my uncle’s throat and burying half of my sister’s body.” 

Electricity crackled around Stiles and Derek stayed where he was. He had no intention of invading the younger man’s space or giving Stiles the slightest reason to walk away before he could say what had needed to be said years ago. 

“I thought it was for the best. Best for you if you were far away from me because I didn’t think I could give you what you deserved.”

Stiles exploded from his seat, the whip of air and snap of power blowing his chips and water bottle several yards from where they’d been. He whirled to face Derek, rage practically boiling out his skin, from his whiskey colored eyes, and spewing from his lips. 

“I loved you! Goddamn it, I still love you! You knew it and you treated me like shit and I fucking hate you for it. I loathe you for hurting me like you did, choosing to do it that way, and then trying to hide behind ‘I thought it was for the best.’ That’s bullshit. It was then and I know for a fact it is now. You were scared - terrified, petrified- and you thought you didn’t deserve to be happy. You were selfish and cruel and I don’t care what we are now! This doesn’t make it alright!” 

Derek flinched, the wolf whimpering and snarling in turn, wanting to meet the challenge in every line of Stiles body and beg for forgiveness at the same time. He didn’t know if the young man realized he’d confessed to still loving Derek, but those words were a kick to the gut and a knife in his heart - not because he didn’t believe Stiles or didn’t want his love -he wanted that and everything, anything else he could have. 

But because he knew how much agony it was to love something so hard, so deep, one couldn’t ever get it out of their cells and if he thought Stiles had somehow had it easy over the last decade (and he had and been glad of it) that hope was fantastically crushed in the face of those words and the almost crippling pain radiating from the magus. 

Derek took a deep breath and pushed past the emotional torment to continue on. “I didn’t think so at the time. That I was selfish. I put what I wanted for you above what I longed for myself. I was cruel, though, and every biting comment I made cut me just as deeply as it cut you.” 

“I don’t care! Don’t you _get_ it? _‘You aren’t pack. You never will be. You’re human and you’re fragile and you have nothing to offer me. You’re still a child and I’m not. And as soon as you’re gone this little crush will fade and you’ll be thanking me ten years from now.’_ Well here’s me, ten years later, telling you to FUCK OFF!” 

Pain crushed his ribs, air wheezed into his lungs. He remembered those words as clearly as Stiles, but at the time he’d forced himself not to think about how the boy might have felt - couldn’t have if he wanted Stiles to be free. Now, though, now he could feel an echo of what he’d done and frankly, he wanted to curl up in a ball and sob. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean them, I… I knew,” Derek choked a bit and didn’t even try to stop the liquid spilling from his eyes, “I knew the second you left. All I wanted was to chase after you, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t be the reason why someone else ended up dead. I couldn’t be the reason why another person missed out on life because they were tied down with my broken ass. Don’t _you_ get it?” 

Stiles took a shuddering breath and Derek watched him physically reign himself in. 

“Sure, Derek, yeah, I got it about a year after I left, Captain Self-Sacrifice and I-Can’t-Have-Nice-Things. Understanding means shit, except when it comes to acceptance and being able to let go. So, psychologically, yeah, I’m all grown up now. The rest? I want to rip your fucking face off and shit down your neck! I want to hurt you worse than you hurt me, because it didn’t seem to me like you were bothered at all. I may not have visited you fuckers when I came to see my dad, but I meant it when I said I kept track. 

“I heard you got some help, did a little fixer-upping on yourself and the old homestead. I listened to the news about the Hale Foundation and how it sets up scholarships for orphaned kids and I know about the support fund for families dealing with traumatic events and members with serious mental health problems. I’m also well aware of the string of beta bitches and human guys you’ve rolled through your bed over the years.” 

Derek gasped at the last, heart beat stumbling, stomach twisting. “It ne-” 

“Shut your fucking mouth, Hale, or so help me… Wanna know how many cocks I’ve ridden or pussies I’ve filled? I’ll tell you, in detail.” Stiles' full, bow-shaped mouth twisted in an ugly sneer as the vulgar comment slid out, slick and distasteful. 

Derek was already shaking his head, “No.” 

“None. Zero. Because _**of**_ you, because they _**weren’t**_ you. I tried, a couple of times, but couldn’t get the feeling of _slime_ and _ooze_ and _wrong, bad_ off my skin and out of my mouth fast enough. I hated you even more, then, when I realized your bullshit and inability to man up _ruined_ me for life! You _**destroyed**_ me and what? Now you think I’m going to give you the time of day, _give_ you more of my life to listen to you say you’re sorry? Get the fuck out!” 

Stiles entire body started to glow, power vibrating his form and rolling off of him in undulating, relentless waves. Derek wanted to go to him, wrap him up and beg, grovel, genuflect his penitence but he knew the other male had reached the limit of his control. Instead, he stepped back and wrapped his arms around his naked middle. 

“I’ll go. The last thing I want to do is hurt you any more.” He looked away from Stiles and back again and made a decision in that moment. “I’ll be back. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. I have since the pool. I knew what we were to each other then, I just couldn’t accept it. So, I’m leaving but I won’t let this be the end.” 

“The next time I see your face, I will _**crush**_ you. Now get out. You aren’t welcome here.” 

Derek shivered, the malice in Stiles’ tone a wash of razor-sharp ice, as he walked away. He deserved all the dark, vile things Stiles felt and he’d own them as he should have long ago, but he wasn’t giving up. He finally had the strength to reach out for all the goodness he had rejected before and Derek was determined to fight for it this time. To prove he was a better man than he’d been and that he could be everything Stiles needed or wanted in a life partner.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Stiles the better part of two hours to calm down. Even then, he rode the edge of his control for the rest of the day. When he’d finally fallen into bed, he’d sunk into sleep with a kind of abandon he couldn’t remember since high school when it had been one near-death experience after another. 

With the morning came a renewed determination to move on. He checked his business emails, called Isaac and checked in. 

“Did you tell them I’m your secretary yet?” 

Stiles smiled. “No. Honestly, I thought you would have years ago. I mean, Dad knows. And hey, you aren’t my secretary. You’re my assistant.” 

Over the line, Isaac’s scoff was clear. “At least you pay well and have a great benefits package.” 

“You’re welcome. Anything worthwhile?” 

“I’ve had a couple of calls out of Louisiana, might be _fifollet_. Otherwise, no, nothing. It’s been kind of, oddly, quiet.” 

“God those fuckers are nasty. And yeah. If this calm keeps up, look into it, would ya?” 

“Will do, Stiles. Later.” 

“Later, man.” He disconnected the call and laid his cell on the desk. 

He’d run into Isaac somewhere in southern France while tracking an omega werewolf that had been wreaking all kinds of havoc. To say the two had been surprised to bump into one another would be downplaying it; to say they were flabbergasted to find the other was also hunting the beast was probably more accurate. After they’d dispatched the problem, he and Isaac had spent several weeks getting reacquainted. 

Isaac was the first person to ever kiss Stiles. It had been sweet and gentle and had turned Stiles’ stomach so hard he’d almost thrown up. After, instead of blowing Stiles off, Isaac had held him while he cried. And a long time later, he’d been the one to suggest the sheriff’s son needed a damn keeper. So Stiles offered to pay him to do just that and now, six years later, they had a fantastic friendship and worked great together. 

“Stiles?” John’s voice rose up the stairwell. 

“Yeah, Dad, be down in a minute.” 

He paused in the doorway to glance around his room, a thousand different thoughts rolling through his mind, before heading down the risers. 

“What’s up?” 

“There are some people here to see you. And you’re going to go see them. I’m not saying you have to patch all the holes in one sitting, son, but you and those people in there? You’ve been through the dark and back and it’s past time you stop punishing them for giving up on you, when you gave up on them too. Plus, I’m tired of not having the girls over because you have been almost as angry with Scott as you are with Derek.” 

“What? The girls? What are you going on about, Dad? And I’m not punishing anyone.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his dad. 

“Bullshit. And I mean Ally and Rachel. Scott and Kira’s daughters. I’m like their grandfather.” 

“You aren’t like anything, Sheriff.” Scott stepped around the corner from the living room and Stiles didn’t know what hurt more - his dad’s words or the pained expression on the Alpha’s face. 

Stiles swallowed hard and tried to clear his throat. “You never said- Dad, why didn’t you tell me you were so close? I wouldn’t have been mad.” 

“Yes, you would have. And we both know if I’d told you I stayed close with the pack, stayed involved, with Scott, with Derek, you’d probably have seen it as a reason to stay away more than you already do. If I told you I missed out on Papa days when you visited, you’d have stopped doing it so I wouldn’t have to give up something I really look forward to.” 

He wanted to shake his head in denial, but he knew his father spoke true. Neither of them talked about the pack or the past when Stiles was home and he’d just assumed it was because once he left, the Sheriff didn’t need to be involved in any supernatural bullshit unless absolutely necessary. 

“So I didn’t tell you. And you can be mad at me later, but I’m your father and that’s never going to change. Now, I’m gonna go check the burgers. Come outside when you’re done.” John motioned between Stiles and Scott before clapping the Alpha on the shoulder as he walked toward the back door. 

“So,” Stiles really didn’t know what to say or where to start. “I guess the whole skinwalker thing worked out for Kira?” 

Scott offered a small smile. “Yeah. And Hayden took to the bite really well. Liam and Mason are still really tight, Mason teaches English at the high school. Liam runs a gym in town. Parrish is still a deputy and Lydia-” 

“Is a professor of quantum theory at UCLA. I kept track of some of you, over the years.” 

“Figures you’d know what Lydia was doing now.” 

They both laughed softly for a moment before Scott took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Listen, I know there’s a lot of water under this bridge and it’s pretty damn rickety. But, Stiles, I really fucking miss you man. I don’t think I can handle it if you disappear out that door and I never get to look at your goofy fucking face again.” 

Stiles blinked hard a few times before meeting Scott’s gaze. “My goofy face? You’re the fugly fuck with the wonky jaw.” 

Scott frowned for about a second before he surged forward and wrapped Stiles up in his arms. “Damn you, Stiles, goddamn you. You left and I fucked up and by the time I realized how big a hole that left in my life, I didn’t even know how to get a hold of you and try to fix it. I’m sorry, man, so fucking sorry. You never said, but I never asked and when John said you’d headed to Berkeley, I thought…” He paused, hot breath and hotter tears bathing the side of Stiles neck and jaw. 

“I’m sorry too, man. I was just, I was hurting so fucking much. Still am and I had to go, get out of here, away from _him_ , but then you didn’t even notice, no one did, and -” Stiles took a deep breath and squinched his eyes shut, not that it stopped the fat drops of salty water dripping down his cheeks and off his nose. 

He squeezed his own arms around Scott, hard, tight, and they simply stood there, two men who had been each other’s rock for so many years, silently soothing the hurts and cleaning the wounds, beginning the healing they both needed. 

Several long minutes later they slowly eased their holds, each man wiping at his face and laughing the way people do when something really good happens after something excruciating. When they figured they were presentable, Scott motioned toward the backyard. 

“So, you leaving soon?” 

Stiles lifted one shoulder. “I dunno. Why?” 

Scott looked a little hesitant before he spoke. “Well, I’ve been thinking. A lot actually. And I think it’s time for Deaton to move on. When he wouldn’t help out with the asura, I don’t know. I started thinking about Derek’s family, all the shit he’s gone through and I looked at my girls… I really understood, right then, why Derek doesn’t trust him, doesn’t like him. And I got what Nomey said before you woke up, that an emissary who stands by and watches his wards be murdered, innocent children, has forgotten what keeping the balance means.” 

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel. That and his fucking sister was a whack job and he’s always creeped me out.” 

Scott laughed. “I’m not asking anything of you. Not trying to pressure you. Just sharing my thoughts and if sometime, down the road, those ideas become a plan…” 

“I hear you. When I decide, I’ll let you know. Fair?” 

“Totally, dude. Now, come on, man. There are a couple of people I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time.” 

Stiles smiled, a grin big enough to show his teeth. “Okay.” 

#  **

“Isaac? Lahey?” 

Stiles nodded at Lydia as he passed the potato salad toward Parrish. “Yeah, ran into him, almost literally, six years ago. He works out of the office in New York. I didn’t want an office, truth be told, I don’t have a house or anything, anywhere but here,” he motioned at the home behind them. “But Isaac had an apartment in the city. He’d only been in France because an acquaintance of Chris’ he’d met over there contacted him when he couldn’t get ahold of Argent.” 

“Chris left town about a year after you did, I think.” His dad bounced four-year old Rachel on his knee as he spoke. “He has someone keep up his place, but the last time he was here, he said something about selling it.” 

“The work he does with the New Day Project keeps him in San Francisco most of the time.” 

New Day was the mental health and trauma recovery program Derek started not long after Stiles left. 

“And if anyone had told me Chris Argent would be working with Derek Hale, specifically helping werewolves that have been wronged by hunters, I would have called bullshit.” 

“He is uniquely qualified and he’s very good at it. And the project helps more than supernaturals.” Kira rose and began collecting empty plates. 

“I know. Both of Hale’s philanthropic endeavors do a lot of tremendously good work.” Stiles handed her his dish and nodded his thanks. 

“So, Stiles, Scott said you’re kind of a hunter yourself. He also said you make a lot of money. Need a partner?” 

Scott, Lydia, Stiles and his dad laughed at Parrish’s comment. He looked at the hellhound with a grin on his lips. “I have one. Besides, what would Dad do if his best deputy ran off?” 

“Right. Seriously, how much _do_ you make?” 

Stiles sat back and wiggled his brows at Lydia. “I passed the Hale’s years ago.” 

“The fuck!” 

“Bullshit!” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

The incredulous responses continued to flow and Stiles just leaned back and laughed and laughed. He was, in fact, quite serious. 

“And he gives a quarter of what he makes every year to both the Hale funds.” 

Nomey dropped that bomb as she sauntered to the table, short legs of her human skin moving in measured steps as she neared the group, Allison “Ally” McCall’s seven-year old hand clasped tight. 

“You’re… Are you Happy to Give?” 

Stiles shot daggers at his familiar with his eyes, while his entire face blossomed red. “Yeah,” he grumbled low in reply to Kira’s question. As the CFO of both non-profits, she’d know the names of their biggest donors. Not that Stiles thought he was the biggest, but he gave several million a year to each, which was a hefty sum. 

“Oh my god, Stiles! Why- you should have- you know we’d never have been able to get that inpatient facility built if it hadn’t been for you!” 

Stiles rubbed his palm across the back of his neck rough enough to feel the skin burn. “It needed to happen. I couldn’t let it fizzle out for lack of funds when I have plenty to give.” 

“Oh, Stiles… What _are_ we going to do with you?” Of course, Lydia would be the one to say what everyone thought. 

All his good humor leaked away and Stiles stood stiffly, reaching to take the dishes from Kira’s grasp. “I’ll take these in. Be back in a few.” 

He didn’t need to eavesdrop to know the hushed whispers behind him were busy discussing Stiles and Derek. As he strode into the house, Stiles couldn’t really blame them. He hadn’t exactly filled them in on details, but he’d told them enough about what happened for them to at least get the gist. 

Tossing the disposable stuff in the bag he’d opened for clean up, Stiles shook his head at… himself. Yes, he had every right to be hurt and angry with Derek. His feelings weren’t wrong, feelings never were. Being reminded of how much he gave though… it made him furious and… And so damn proud. Because Derek was doing amazing things to help other people who had suffered like he had get through to the other side, hopefully healthy and healing, with support and not alone. 

The funny, not funny part, was that he’d never hesitated. Not once had Stiles even entertained the idea of not donating, like withholding his money (anonymously) could be some kind of punishment for Derek. No, he’d jumped on that train almost before the cars left the station. 

Exactly as he had when he’d sent Will Zimmerman’s card to Hale after he and the psychologist ( _‘forensic psychiatrist, Stiles’_ ) had bumped into one another not far from a Sanctuary in Oslo about two years after he left Beacon Hills. They’d both been tracking what Zimmerman called an Abnormal, but Stiles knew to be a wendigo, and decided working together was smarter than apart. 

The guy was hot, for sure, but also surprisingly good at head-shrinking and Stiles found himself opening up to Will. He hadn’t gone into detail or given names or places, but after those two weeks, Zimmerman handed him a card. Said he didn’t really do therapy, but if Stiles met someone he thought needed it, Will would help, no questions asked. 

It had taken Stiles another six months to send the card (or rather pay someone else to mail the card for him after he’d put it in an envelope and addressed it while making sure he didn’t leave a trace of himself on the package). About a year later, Isaac had forwarded a call from Will who had asked if he knew a Derek Hale. 

Stiles responded he did and he was using his offer. He hadn’t heard from Will again, but he had picked up indications Derek continued to see the man for some time and was in a much better place. Of course, that had been about five years ago, but after their conversation yesterday, even blinded by his overwrought emotions, he could tell Derek was better. 

Which brought his brain right back ‘round to himself. Stiles was angry with Derek, yes, but a 23 year old Derek, who was so damaged and yeah, a little broken, he hadn’t really… Well, Stiles shouldn’t have expected him to react any way but how he had. And he knew that, he did, but he’d had so much hope, so much honest, genuine desire to just give until Derek saw himself like Stiles did… 

The point was, yes, he was still angry with, and hurt by, Derek. But he was also so unbelievably proud of the man, so truly glad Hale had begun to heal and do something the Alpha felt was meaningful and found rewarding. He was overjoyed when he heard about the renovations in the Preserve and even though it cut him to the quick, he’d also been relieved when he found out Derek started dating. 

It hurt like a cancer in his bones, especially when he could not find the same respite himself, but Stiles took the information that Hale hadn’t hermitted away and gone back to hiding from the world as a good sign. He hadn’t been happy about the who’s or what they were likely doing, but Derek had so much to offer, Stiles couldn’t be upset he had chosen to do so from an objective perspective, though he certainly was subjectively. 

Stiles looked around his father’s house and realized he’d spent much of the last ten years quietly supporting Derek from a distance and part of the reason for his lingering hurt was that he’d had to make his way mostly on his own. Sure, it had been his choice, and he’d never reached out or tried to make contact either, but unfair as it was, a part of him expected Derek to do the reaching a long time ago and he never had. 

And doing it now just felt a little too little, too late. A bit overly convenient given the happenings of the last week. He kind of felt like Derek only attempted to try and settle things between them after Stiles had come back and presented himself and that pissed Stiles off. Royally. 

He wasn’t sure if he could really move on from the past. If he could fully forgive Derek for all his mistakes - real and possibly perceived. Obviously, there was some absolution because of all he did for Derek without recognition or knowledge. But clemency was easier in the abstract; forgiveness of the source itself something altogether different. 

“You coming back out, kid?” 

Stiles shook himself from his musings and turned to see his dad at the patio door. “Yeah, Dad. Lemme wash my hands.” 

“Okay. You know, they weren’t trying to upset you.” 

“I know. It’s all good. Be there in a second.” 

His dad closed the door and Stiles stepped to the sink. He could leave thoughts of Derek aside for a little while and just enjoy being with people who had been more than friends, and maybe, just maybe, they might be on the road to family once again.


	9. Chapter 9

“So Skinner called this morning. Asked how much longer you were gonna be on sabbatical.” 

Isaac hadn’t bothered with a typical greeting and Stiles frowned into the phone. 

“Sabbatical?” 

“That’s the word he used. Said chatter coming through back channels is you aren’t available to take new work right now.” 

“I never said that,” he chewed his bottom lip and tapped his finger on his chin. 

“I know because neither did I.” 

“What did you tell him?” 

“Asked if he had something needing attention pronto and he said no, just a couple of things simmering and to let him know when you were back.” 

Stiles sighed loudly. “Well what the fuck? I’ll talk to Nomey, maybe she has an inkling. I’ll ring you tomorrow, unless something comes up between now and then.” 

“Right, well, I’m getting ready to head out for the weekend so call me on my cell.” 

“Will do. Hey, you should come out here. It would be good for you to see everyone.” 

“Yeah, maybe. I haven’t been back in years. Don’t really have anything there.” 

There was a kind of heavy pause before Stiles asked, “Have you not visited because you thought I’d get mad?” 

“No, not really. It’s pretty hard to hide lies from werewolves, though. And the first time someone asked me what I did for a living, my heart rate would have probably skyrocketed. Mostly, though, I couldn’t think of a good reason to go back.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I can understand. I think you should come, though.” 

“If you’re still there in a week, I’ll catch a flight.” 

“Deal. Talk to you soon.” 

“Bye, Stiles.” 

Call complete, Stiles tipped his head back against the chair and spun it in little circles while he gaze at the ceiling. He was at loose ends. He’d rarely spent more than one or two day, every few weeks, not working in the last ten years. And then, he mostly slept. He didn’t really have hobbies anymore - didn’t play video games or sports, didn’t read much beyond research, hell he couldn’t name the last movie he’d seen in a theatre or out. 

His dad was at work, so was Scott (he still worked with Deaton, though as a full on vet now), Nomey had gone to the Preserve to commune with nature or something - she did that whenever she could, reconnecting to her fox spirit and reaffirming her ties to the Earth and the Inari. It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon and he had nothing to do. 

“Go wander around town? Watch tv? Beat off?” He snickered at the last, without humor. He hadn’t touched himself in a very, very long time. Self-love stopped being fun and started being real depressing when he’d turned about 23. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, he got the niggling of an idea. He’d told Derek about being a magus, but he hadn’t really explained it, what he could do. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to see the man, okay that was a lie. He didn’t think he was ready to try interacting with him verbally. 

As he kicked off his sneakers and pulled his shirt over his head, though, he thought he could definitely see what Hale was up to or at least check out the new house in the daylight without worrying about running into Derek and being forced to talk. In fact, even if he did bump into the Alpha there was little chance Stiles would be recognized. At least at first. Their connection would give him away fairly quickly, but hopefully it wouldn’t be an issue. 

He slid his jeans down his legs and stepped free of them before rolling his shoulders and centering himself. It had taken long hours and almost a year for him to master this art, but once he had, he’d finally understood the freedom the werewolves felt when they shifted. 

He watched the little golden sparks lift and dance from his skin as he called a different form, one well-worn and comfortable, human shape dissolving as the puma coalesced. Animagus was nothing like a werewolf or skinwalker. The animal didn’t live inside Stiles, wasn’t part of his DNA. 

While he gained the animal’s different senses (buoyed by his own) he also remained human. He could use his magic, think, all the things he was capable of with two legs and arms. Skinwalkers, shapeshifters, weres of all sorts, even those who remained mostly human in their minds, still had a bit of their animals inside, something that came naturally. Stiles had to learn what it meant to be each animal form he chose, had to study them and understand them, truly, in order to achieve his ability, he had no animal inside to guide him. 

Which likely explained why he’d only mastered three forms: puma, wolf, and eagle. The bird had easily been the hardest but really, there was nothing at all like flying with wings beating and the wind rolling over feathers. 

He shook his head as his power retreated, looking down at his massive paws and giving a full body shake. He was bigger than a normal mountain lion, his coat more amber than wheat, his eyes the same dark whiskey. He’d spent hours looking at his animagus forms once and he’d thought they were all pretty fucking amazing. 

He slipped down the stairs and to the patio, unsheathing claws to curl around the handle and pull the door open. Once out of the house, he nudged the aperture closed with his muzzle before slinking, belly low to the ground, around the side of the house and toward the front. Middle of the day on a Friday was thankfully quiet on his street and Stiles managed to navigate through town undetected until he was well inside the Preserve. 

The doe he startled took off in a burst of fear scent and grass but Stiles paid her no mind. He had hunted and eaten in this form but mostly out of necessity and not a prey drive. Lifting his head, he took a deep breath, cataloging all the different smells, furling and unfurling his claws in the moist earth beneath the pads of his feet. Gods, he’d forgotten how good it felt to do this, to be like this, if only for a little while. 

Stiles took his time, wandering through the tall redwoods. He neared the leshy den but only paused long enough to be sure it’s magical residue remained free of dark notes, before turning in the direction of the Hale House. 

He approached with care, moving silent and slow, every sense alert for any change in the environment. When he detected nothing other than typical forest dwellers, he moved closer, scaling a tree to hide himself and afford a better view. Derek had really outdone himself. The place was magnificent, even better than it had been when his family was alive. 

There was a massive, wrap-around porch, littered with rocking chairs, a couple of swings, and at least three table and chair sets. The big bay window at the front was filled with colorful pillows and it looked like most of the windows were open, blinds pulled up, letting as much natural light in as possible. The cedar siding was a lovely burnt umber color and off to the right of the house, Stiles could just make out what looked to be a garden in the back. 

Scanning the place, he searched for a sign of Derek or his car, something to suggest whether the Alpha was home or not. He didn’t see anything and his curiosity nudged him closer, so he quietly made his way down the trunk of his perch before trotting toward the closed garage door on the far left of the building. 

The strong odor of exhaust had Stiles huffing air out his nose to clear it, but he couldn’t tell whether it was recent enough to suggest Derek had left or arrived. He really, really wanted to get a peek inside, but didn’t want to see Hale, if he was on site. Instead, Stiles made his way around to the back of the house. 

He emerged into a beautifully kept yard, wildflowers blooming artfully in and around the neatly trimmed grass. While spectacular what really took hold of Stiles gaze and halted him in his tracks was the sight of one very tan, extremely well-built, and utterly naked Derek Hale. 

Stiles’ mouth went bone dry. Twelve years was a super long time to wonder what someone looked like nude, but holy hellfire, he couldn’t help but think it had been so worth it. Derek was poolside, body turned in profile to Stiles, and the magus drank in every fucking inch of exposed flesh, praying they were burned into his mind for future reference - like say the future about twenty minutes from then, which would be about how long it would take him to get home. 

Derek’s body, Jesus, was exactly as defined, powerful, and breath-taking as Stiles had ever imagined. The cut of his iliac crest, the divot in the side of his perfect, firm, round ass, the dimples at the base of his spine… Stiles didn’t know if a puma’s eyes could bug out of their face, but if they could, he was sure his were. 

His gaze traced the lines of Derek’s deltoids and lats, his triceps and biceps, calves and quads, and thought if Michelangelo had a Derek Hale, he’d have laughed _David_ right out of the posing chair. And despite his conscience telling him not to, from this angle, there was no way Stiles could miss the defining aspect of Derek’s masculinity where it lay, not sleeping (if he could have laughed at himself he would have, then, if only because he still found it ridiculously funny that a dick was only soft when the muscle was flexed, not when it was relaxed) its sheath completely covering the glans. 

And that? Yeah, that hung somewhere six or so inches south of where it started, which set Stiles’ imagination running again. Even if Derek was a show-er, his dick had to be at least seven or eight inches hard and fuuuck if that didn’t send blood rushing away from his brain. He had to get out of there before he did something epically stupid. 

He must have made a sound, crushed a leaf, snapped a twig, choked on his own drool. Whatever he did, Derek spun to face the sound and met Stiles gaze head on, eyes widening at first, nostrils flaring. They stayed like that, Stiles primed to run, Derek taking in the rather large puma, for what seemed like forever. Then, to Stiles shock, the cock he’d just been ogling stirred and Derek narrowed his gaze. 

“Stiles.” 

Yep, that did it. He whirled on his back legs and shot off through the forest at at least mach one. He knew, he swore he heard the boom. It could have been the roar of an alpha werewolf but… nope, Stiles wasn’t about to slow down and check. 

Hell no, he blew through the trees and entertained the idea of taking his eagle form, but he wasn’t about to stop long enough to do it. Instead, he tore into the ground with his claws and made toward home like Parrish was riding his ass. He’d just cleared the edge of the Preserve, darting across the gravel road separating private property from town when he heard the rapid _th-thump, th-thump_ , of his pursuer. 

_Well, shit._

He hesitated. A puma in California wasn’t all that unusual, but a massive black timber wolf? Not so much. _Fuck._ He turned on a dime, running back into the forest, looking for a very tall, very sturdy tree. Wolves weren’t very good climbers -though they could and did climb given enough time and/or enough larger platforms for them to jump to and from - and he didn’t think Derek would shimmy up a fifty foot trunk buck-ass naked. 

Branches crunching, small mammals running for their lives, Stiles skedaddled as fast as the powerful body allowed and launched himself at the tallest tree he came to first. The thick claws of all four feet dug deep and he tore upward like he was a squirrel and not a two hundred and fifty pound cat. He stopped about midway into the denser branches and found one that could support his weight and eased his shaking limbs around it, trying to calm down and making little headway. 

He’d been perched maybe five minutes when he heard Derek crashing through the underbrush. The huge wolf skidded to a stop, nose lifted and ears perked, and Stiles knew the instant Derek’s sharp gaze landed on the deep furrows he’d clawed up the side of the tree. He stalked to its base and looked up, eyes glowing crimson. 

Stiles glared right back, hissing for good measure, tail flicking hard back and forth as Derek’s eyes shifted back, and then Derek’s body shifted too. He heard the crack of bone and a soft whine of pain and was thankful for this other difference between animagus and shapeshifter: his change never hurt. 

“You have to come down sometime, Stiles.” 

He growled a guttural _merowl rowr_ in response. The hell he did - at least not as he was, but Derek didn’t know that. 

“Don’t think I won’t wait you out.” 

Stiles hissed again. 

“You know, you could have called. I’d have been happy to show you the house. I assume that’s what you were there for and not the nudity.” 

_It was a nice bonus._ Derek couldn’t hear Stiles but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it anyway. 

“I talked to your dad this morning. Asked if he thought I could stop by tonight. I thought maybe we could have dinner.” He heard Derek give a humorless laugh. “Figured you’d probably punch me again, but it would have been worth it just to look at you. Your dad gave me this sad face and sighed. Then he told me just to come for the meal. Said that way you’d be pissed at him too.” 

Stiles made a grumbly noise and shifted his weight. Derek looked up at him, really taking in the form. 

“You’re beautiful, you know. I didn’t know you could do that, change shape, but I read some magus can. You call it animagus, but since you said archmagus, I figure this must just be one thing you learned to do.” 

Stiles looked down at Derek’s face and swished his tail. Fuck, Derek sure was chatty when he was naked in the woods, hanging around waiting for a treed puma to come down. 

“That’s what I’ve been doing the last couple of days. Research. Learning what a magus is, what you do, I mean beyond your business. I’ve known about that for a few years now. Hard not to hear about the amber-eyed man who hunts the shadows when you live in certain circles. Or when you meet Will Zimmerman for the first time.” 

He glanced back up at Stiles, but Stiles looked away. He supposed he’d never explicitly told Will to keep his identity to himself, but fuckin’ A. 

“Thank you, by the way. I should have contacted you, found a way to tell you how grateful I was you sent me his card. But I didn’t. I didn’t do a lot of things I should have, did I? I had years after I started to get better, when I owned what I’d done, when I could have tried to get a hold of you, tried to apologize, anything. Instead, I told myself you were better off, when the truth was I was terrified of what you might say, how you would have reacted.” 

Stiles rose from his perch and crouched, relinquishing the cat and carefully standing up, one hand braced against the tree for balance. He stood, as naked and exposed as Derek, watched the other man stumble back, eyes darting everywhere at once, trying to do much like Stiles had earlier and burn the image into his mind no doubt. 

His skin heated the second Derek’s focus lit on the triskele over his heart, the other man’s gaze as good as the touch of his skin across the painted brand. 

“It was the first. And you’re welcome.” 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the bird form over himself as quickly as he could, which he knew from experience was about a blink and a half’s time. Derek gasped but Stiles didn’t look down at him, instead launching into the air and powering himself upward with strong, deep beats of his golden wings. Each downstroke lifted him higher and higher until he cleared to tops of the tallest trees, the sky empty and open before him. 

The sun warmed his back, the air smoothing over his feathers like the gentle stroke of a hand and Stiles screamed a cry into the heavens and soared.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles stepped from the shower and heard footfalls coming up the stairs. He cocked his head, “Dad?” 

“Yeah, just me. Hey, so I invited Derek for dinner.” 

“I know.” He toweled his hair before wrapping the cloth around his waist and opening the bathroom door. “We, uh, kind of ran into each other this afternoon.” 

“Oh, well… If you’re going to start yelling, go ahead.” 

Stiles sighed and went into his room, grabbing a pair of loose shorts from his bag and slipping them on under the towel before discarding it over the back of the computer chair. 

“I’m not going to yell at you, Dad. Hey, have you seen Nomey?” 

“She’s downstairs in the living room, her and all nine of her tails.” 

Stiles lifted a brow as he slipped his arms through a dark red tank top. “Really?” 

John nodded. “So, do you want to make something, or just order pizza?” 

“Pizza’s good.” 

The sheriff grinned a bit smugly. “You know, I really don’t miss you nagging me about my diet.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I grew out of that, Dad. Doesn’t mean I think you should go hardcore carnivore and just start shoveling in the red meat and fat like you need to bulk up for a lean winter. But I know you’re healthy and your heart is in great shape. Hopefully, a little pizza and bacon won’t kill you.” 

His dad laughed and reached out, maybe thinking for a second Stiles was still 12 and not 28 (nearly 29), and ruffled his still damp hair. “At least not today. I’ll order the food, why don’t you get out plates and napkins and go start the wood stove. It’s nice enough this time of year the stove just makes things comfy.” 

“Sure, Dad.” 

“Derek’ll be here in about an hour.” 

Stiles half listened to his dad on the phone while he did as asked, trying not to think about Derek or the afternoon or the past. He made a promise to himself to try and be in the now and present this evening; not because he expected some epic _Say Anything_ style make-up but because he owed it to himself, at least, to try and move forward positively. The _magna_ thing was done; neither he nor Derek could undo it. They could, however, benefit from it and grow as people, even if they never achieved anything more than civility and respect. 

And after being here with his dad, and Scott and Kira and the girls, seeing Lydia and Parrish, Stiles realized he’d denied himself an awful lot of good trying to avoid one very painful moment. Life was short, no matter if one was human or not, and ten years was a long time to waste. He and Scott might never have what they once did, but they were making their way to something close, but new, deeper, more mature. 

For all its hellmouthery, Stiles missed Beacon Hills. His father lived here, his mother was laid to rest here. He’d realized, flying high over town today, that this never really stopped being his home, he’d just been a little lost for awhile. He could work from anywhere and when he’d spied the Argent place from above he thought it might make a good place to settle down. 

He stuffed a few logs in the stove and watched the flames catch and grow. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, thinking and not thinking, when he heard his dad call his name. 

“Coming!” He jogged to the house and followed the sound of his dad. 

“Hey, grab a couple of these while I pay this kid. Hale just pulled up.” 

Stiles ignored the fluttering of nerves as he took the pizza boxes from John and carried them back outside. He set them on the picnic table and turned to retrieve the plates almost colliding with Derek. 

“Whoa, uh, sorry.” He stepped to the side and Derek put down the paper plates, napkins, and cutlery. 

“I’ll go grab soda. Do you want grated parmesan?” 

Derek shrugged off his jacket ( _black leather, jesus man_ ) and nodded. “Sure. D’you have Dr. Pepper?” 

“Of course, were you coming to dinner?” Stiles smiled gently and stepped back into the house as his dad strode in from the door. 

“Soda?” Stiles lifted a Pepsi from the refrigerator toward his dad. 

“Thanks. You two grab everything?” 

“Yep.” 

“Then let’s eat.” 

#  **

“God, I do not miss those years - at least not all the bullshit.” John laughed good-naturedly and thumped Stiles on the arm. “I really thought you were drug running or something until… well, you know.” 

“Yeah, an evil fox spirit makes multiple felonies seem like a good thing.” With the distance time bought, Stiles and his dad could joke about it now and that was good. 

Nomey trotted out from the house and Stiles motioned her over. “Finally decided to join us, I see.” 

_I was napping._

John coughed and Derek’s eyes widened. Stiles chuckled. 

“Projecting for everyone, that’s very courteous.” 

_Shut up, Stiles._

This had Hale and the sheriff rolling but Stiles only grumbled unintelligibly.

_Introduce us._

Stiles huffed and looked at Derek. “Derek Hale, might I offer introduction to Onajimi no kitsune, aka Nomey. Nomey, Derek Edward Hale.” 

She dipped her head a bit, the triskele fully revealed in the low light of the stove. 

Derek made a strangled sound as soon as he saw it, but managed to bring his palms together in a seated bow. “It’s an honor.” 

_Stiles._

He didn’t need her to say more. Time to bite the bullet; he had given his word. 

“Yeah. Uh, Dad, me and Derek are going to go for a walk. We’ll be back in a little while.” 

“Alright. Behave.” 

Stiles stood and headed toward the house to grab some shoes, Nomey at his side, while Derek said his goodbyes to the sheriff. She nuzzled into his hand before moving off and up the stairs and he waited, trying to keep the fidgeting in his limbs to a minimum. Soon enough, Derek joined him at the front door and Stiles motioned Derek to precede him out. 

They walked for a long time in silence, just letting their feet take them wherever, but eventually Stiles knew he’d stalled long enough, so he directed them toward the park where he’d met Scott for the first time some twenty years ago. He slipped into one of the swings, somewhat surprised when Derek chose the one next to him. 

“What? I can’t like to swing?” 

Stiles ducked his head to hide the slight blush the idea of Derek, carefree and laughing in a swing brought to mind. “Not something I ever considered I guess. You were always so dour and broody.” 

“Sourwolf, I think you called me once.” 

Stiles snorted. “Yeah. So, look, I - I, uh, I don’t really want to fight with you anymore, Derek. Not because of the _magna_ thing, but… It’s hard, you know? I mean, look I realized over the last week that I kind of miss being here. I’ve made a shit ton of mistakes myself, over the last decade, and I’d like to not to do that anymore. I’ve seen some of the worst shit anyone can imagine and I’m tired of that being pretty much all I ever look at everyday. I’m not gonna quit my job, I mean I love it and I’m a total BAMF, but I need some good too. And if I’m going to be in Beacon Hills, I need to be able to let things go. Know I can run into you at the grocery and not want to smash your pretty face.” 

“I’ll move, if that’s what you want.” 

Stiles stopped his swing and tightened his fingers around the chains holding him suspended. “No! Goddamn it, Derek. I’m not asking you to leave!” 

“Then tell me what you want, Stiles. I’ll give you anything, everything you want. Just tell me and it’s done.” 

Stiles growled deep in his chest. “No, stop it. That isn’t what I want at all. Stop… stop whatever it is you’re doing! Martyring yourself again, thinking it will make me fucking happy!” He stood from the swing and paced away from the other man, taking deep breaths to hold his temper. “Stop trying to decide what’s best for me, what you think I want, Derek. You suck at it.” 

He looked over his shoulder at Hale and actually wished, for a second, that the bond they shared _did_ include mind-reading abilities. His head was pressed against a chain, his eyes never leaving Stiles, but he didn’t say anything. 

The younger man heaved a put-upon sigh and turned to face his companion. 

“Listen, _magna_? It, they, _we_ don’t have to do anything. I mean, because neither of us is strictly human there are some complications, but we could try to learn how and what has changed for us, figure out the positives of it, you know? Like I’ve got access to all my power now. Before, it was like there was a wall separating me from a good chunk of it. Today, for example, a double shift would have left me pretty tired, but it didn’t even make me yawn. Do you think that’s something we could do?” 

Derek blinked a couple of times then nodded. “Sure.” 

“Do you _want_ to do that? Fuck, Derek, what do _you_ want?” 

Derek took a deep breath and stood, taking the four or five steps necessary to bring him close enough to Stiles that the younger man could feel his body heat and smell the distinct cologne of his skin. 

“You, Stiles. Anyway I can have you. All I want is you, in my life. And I know I don’t really deserve you. I know I fucked up so badly I have no idea, were I in your shoes, if I’d ever be able to forgive me either. But it’s you, Stiles. It probably always was you. I’ve loved you since before I shoved you out and I’ll keep loving you until I stop drawing breath.” 

“You are such a massive _asshole_.” Stiles wrapped his arms around his belly and tried to blink back the tears in his eyes. Jesus fuck, his whole body ached to just envelop Derek in his arms and hold on for dear life. “Why, why didn’t you ever _try_?” 

Fuck, he wanted to take those words back the instant they left his lips. But this thing, this twisted thing, Stiles couldn’t resolve alone. Even now, standing in the park, it was Stiles laying it out there, trying to bridge the divide and he… If Derek couldn’t start doing some reaching of his own, Stiles knew, deep down, he and Derek would never be _Sterek_. 

Stiles didn’t know if he’s spoken aloud or if maybe he was simply projecting what he felt like a bullhorn, but suddenly he was **there**. Derek's fingers curled around his wrists, pulled his arms open, and tugged, bringing their bodies together. Sweet relief poured through Stiles, _finally, he was where he'd longed to be_. Derek's arms closed around him, almost painfully tight, the Alpha's face pressed hard against his shoulder, hands grabbing, holding, trying to bring them even closer regardless the barrier of their clothes. 

“Because I’m stupid,” Derek sobbed against his shoulder. “Because I was afraid. Because all I wanted was you at my side, your unwavering support shoring me up when I was lost, when I stumbled, but I knew I wouldn't survive if you realized I wasn't worth your time."

"Derek," Stiles nose and throat were on fire, his eyes swelling, hurt and anger and so much lost time cutting off his words. 

"Maybe I'm not, but I can't - I'm holding on, now, Stiles. And if you walk away, I’ll never stop following you, never stop tracking you down, never leave you alone and wondering if you’ll ever find the shore, if there’s a lighthouse to lead you home.” 

Hot tears, snot, spit, Stiles knew he was soaking Derek’s throat as surely as the Alpha was Stiles’ shirt. He wound his arms tighter around the other man, brought Derek's bigger body even closer, Stiles' fingertips digging into his lats. Holding on to his anchor in this storm.

“I’d have forgiven you anything if you’d just come _after_ me. I can’t stand the thought that I wasn’t worth enough, wasn’t important enough for you to leave your baggage behind and come get me!” He was damn near wailing at the end, couldn’t hardly catch his breath. 

“I am so sorry. Please, please, please, Stiles, I can’t go back but I promise you, never again. Gods, give me a chance. I am begging you.” 

Stiles held tight, choking on so many years of loneliness and grief and pain. He was on a precipice, he felt it, and he could either cling to those things and keep punishing himself and Derek or he could let go. It wouldn’t automatically put things right, and he was sure they’d have some dark patches moving forward, rough spots for sure, but… 

“Okay, Derek. Okay.” 

The larger man collapsed against him, entire body heaving with gut-wrenching howls and Stiles carefully lowered them to the ground. 

“I love you, Stiles. I love you so much.” 

Stiles eased his hold to sweep one hand over Derek’s head. “I love you too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending - with money shot.
> 
> I haven't written anything that wasn't for a college course in almost three years, so if the smut's a little rusty, forgive me.
> 
> Also, Derek discusses some really unhealthy coping mechanisms in this part. If you or someone you know behaves similarly, please, get help. You have worth, you are important, you deserve love and hurting yourself (like Derek did or elsewise) is never the answer.

“I’m nervous, alright?” Stiles huffed and shifted on the middle of the bed, trying to look everywhere but at Derek. 

“We don’t have to do anything. You know that.” 

“Yes, Derek. I know. But I’m an almost _thirty_ year old virgin. I want to, I just… I’ve had two, _two_ , very short, very _unsatisfactory_ kisses in my life. Forgive me if I feel a little out of my element.” 

“I’m so-” 

“Stop. I’m not saying it for an apology. I’m telling you so you understand. Jesus, I haven’t even touched _myself_ in a very long time. I’ll probably go off in ten seconds and that’s if I can get my dick up in the first place.” 

Guilt and glee warred for dominance in Derek’s heart, even though he tried to ignore them. This perfect, amazing, powerful man had missed out on so much because of Derek and he hurt for Stiles. But he would also never know another’s touch, or the taste of someone else’s tongue or skin and Derek was fucking elated about that. 

Derek moved onto the bed, lying next to Stiles before tugging the younger man down and tucking him close to his side. They had been them, Sterek Stiles liked to call it, for about three months, but they’d been a busy three months and so much had changed in Beacon Hills. One of the first big shifts was Scott and Derek telling Deaton it was time to move on. Now, Scott was the lone vet in town but his newest tech, one Isaac Lahey, was amazing with patients and animals and the practice was flourishing. 

With Isaac’s job change, Stiles had decided to put out feelers for a new assistant. No one had been surprised when another face from their past, Danny, applied. Well, if applied was even the right word. He’d emailed a resume with a two short lines, “I bet it fits now. Call me, Stilinski,” and Stiles had been laughing so hard he could barely punch the numbers. 

An archmagus wasn’t an emissary, but neither Scott nor Derek gave two shits, so beyond his contract work (which he’d done much less of since coming home) Stiles had also applied his vast knowledge to being the best not-Druid emissary any pack could want. And slowly, he’d gotten to know all the members of the ‘super special, double-Alpha pack’ he’d never met. 

Kelly and Jamie and Frank Mills, a family of mixed wolf and coyote who stumbled into Beacon Hills six or seven years ago and found a home. Judy Mae and Elenore, a pair of elderly sisters with a penchant for mischief (and enough fae blood in their family tree to create quite a bit of it), Billy, the teenage runaway who the Sheriff had picked up for shoplifting and after seeing the boy’s eyes flash electric green, found safety and acceptance for the first time in his young life with people who didn’t care he had a mountain lion in his soul. 

Derek couldn't be prouder of him or happier to see the man still thrust himself headlong into challenges and gave his all to meeting and exceeding every expectation. He smiled softly as he looked over at Stiles. The years had changed him, time given definition to his body and some organization to his mind, but at heart, he remained the same brash, loyal, brilliant person he was at 16. 

The only big change Derek noticed was that Stiles wasn't as tactile as he'd once been. It had taken quite a few weeks for him to feel sure enough in what they were becoming to be very receptive to physical affection - hell, it’d been a week after the park before he’d been okay enough to even hug Derek again. Slowly, hugging turned to holding hands, frequent brushes of fingers or a palm against each others’ arms, sides, or back. 

When Stiles settled into that, Derek had reached for him, pulled him close when they watched television, held him tight, back to front, at the weekly pack nights with the Sheriff, eventually been allowed to curl his broader form around Stiles just like this, napping on the sofa or while they talked in bed. But they hadn’t done anything more. He’d yet to press his lips to Stiles’, though he wanted to, very much. 

The last three months hadn’t all been good. No, they’d had a couple of epic rows too, most notably last week. One of the betas from the Gerardi pack, near San Fran, had dropped by Derek’s house unannounced and pulled the Alpha into a mouth to mouth, tongue thrusting, kiss before Derek had the door fully open. 

Stiles had been so enraged lightning had shot out of his hands, throwing the invading male (Jim, Derek was pretty sure his name was) thirty feet from the house. His eyes had been sparking, skin actually crackling with power and he’d left without another word. Derek had scrambled after him, pausing barely long enough to inform Jim(?) he was no longer available before running to the Sheriff’s house as fast as his shifted legs would take him. 

It had taken Stiles three days to even look at Derek, forget actually talk to him. So the fact that they were here, in the bed Derek bought for them seven years ago, well, Derek considered it an achievement. 

“What’s really bothering you?” He spoke softly, sweeping his broad palm up and down Stiles back. 

“How did you do it? Why did you do it? I couldn’t, could not physically be intimate with anyone, but you…” Stiles rolled away from him, shrugging his touch as he went, only stopping to sit up on the far edge of the bed. 

Derek heard his stuttering breath and started to follow, but Stiles held up a hand to forestall the movement. 

“I don’t understand. You fuckers do _mate_ , so if you thought of me like that, like you say did, you do, then I just don’t get it.” 

Derek sighed and not for the first time (and certainly a long way from the last time) he really wished he’d stopped fucking up and tried to reach out to Stiles the second he knew the young man had left. He lived with that regret every day, though now it only gave him pause, a sharp pang in his heart, instead of driving him to his knees. Knowing he needed words, Derek took a deep breath and pushed past shame to give Stiles the honest, unvarnished truth. 

“They had to remind me of you. And I had to be very, very drunk in order to suppress the wolf enough to get them into bed and get my dick hard. I don’t know how many times I called them your name and I never slept with them more than once.” He took a deep breath and swallowed hard before continuing, “and after I sent them on their way, I stood in a shower so hot my flesh blistered and scrubbed my skin until it bled. Because that wasn’t enough, I used to spend every day for weeks bawling my eyes out like an infant and trying to claw the memory of them from by body. 

“I did it to hurt myself, not because I was lonely or wanted to feel good. Another punishment because I thought it was all I deserved.” 

Stiles shuddered. “That’s fucked up, Derek.” 

“Yeah. I stopped about a year after I started talking to Will. He helped me realize how unhealthy it was. So maybe it hasn’t been as long for me, but I promise you Stiles, I am just as nervous here. Just as scared I’ll fuck this up. Everything and everyone that came before you… not all of them were meaningless, but none of them compare to you.” 

He watched, breath held, until he saw Stiles stand and heard him breathe deeply. He held so still as the magus turned to face the bed and pull off his shirt, then pushed down his shorts, exposing himself to Derek’s gaze for the first time since he’d treed himself all those months back. 

Derek’s breath left him in a rush. “ _Stiles._ ” 

He was magnificent. Images and color covered much of his flesh, muscles strong and defined, lean and whip-cord tight supporting the art. Derek’s eyes tracked over the ivy twined around long fingers, the marks he’d noticed the first time he’d seen Stiles after ten years apart. The deep green lines swirled over the backs of his hands and digits, up and around his wrists, vibrant butterflies and colorful birds flitted here and there. Dark, dangerous shapes revealed themselves in the arched whorls of pattern along the way, clinging to the vines as they made their way up his arms and over Stiles’ shoulders. 

Across the right side of his body, spanning the entire space from just beneath his pectoralis, down over his ribs, to end just before the jut of his hip, Derek recognized a rune and a fox, the rune carved into the trunk of a tree the fox lazed beneath. On the left side, more runes, this time worked into the shape of an oriental dragon, the beast’s tail curling low, riding the ridge of the cut of his groin before disappearing around the back. 

Stiles legs hadn’t been neglected either, there were words along his right thigh in a language Derek didn’t know and another fox, this one very reminiscent of Nomey, on his left. His gaze tracked upward, carefully avoiding looking at Stiles dick in a more than a passing way as he settled his sights over the other man’s heart. There, in the middle of his chest was the bright, almost living triskele, alpha, beta, omega reflected in the arms of each branch, above it the awen shaded like Derek’s eyes. He was humbled, looking at his symbol on Stiles and knowing it was the first. 

Stiles slowly turned, revealing his back and another _awen_ in the same space where Derek’s first tattoo resided. Beneath it, though, Derek could not believe what he saw and couldn’t have stopped himself from moving toward Stiles if he’d tried. 

Taking up most of his back, in colors so bright and detail so vivid Derek thought it might have been a photograph at first, was a replica of a picture of the pack they’d taken the summer before the Alpha pack made itself known. He remembered this picture viscerally, Peter having set the timer on his phone to capture it, all of them piled atop one another beneath the big oak that sat across the drive right now, outside the house. 

Stiles, Scott, and Allison were tangled at the foot of the tree, with Isaac and Erica and Boyd spilling over and around them. Lydia and Jackson were tucked close to the rest on the left, with Peter and Derek on the right. If that had been all there was, Derek would have been choked up. 

But this was Stiles skin, his canvas, and he didn’t do anything half-way. 

No, surrounding all of them, faces peeking over shoulders, whole bodies filling in the edges, Derek saw his parents, his siblings, Laura and Cora tucked beside Derek with Mom and Dad standing behind them. He saw Aunt Beth, her smiling face pressed against Peter’s neck, chin resting on his shoulder. 

Behind Stiles stood John, his arm around a beautiful woman who could only be Claudia. Derek reached out to touch, had to, and his fingers trembled as he made contact. 

“How?” It was only word he could speak. 

“Magic, a bit, and old pictures. It took a really long fucking time and hurt like hell.” Stiles voice was quiet, barely a whisper. 

“I don’t… I’ve never seen anything so amazing in my life.” Moved was woefully inadequate to describe how seeing his family, smiling and happy, on the skin of Stiles’ back made him feel, but he couldn’t find words. 

Instead, he skimmed his digits over faces here and gone before gripping Stiles’ hip and gently pulling him around to face the bed. He released the warm flesh to take long fingers in his own, pulling Stiles back onto the bed. He tugged off his own clothes in a flash and laid back. 

“Touch me. Please. You set the pace, you decide, but please, Stiles, I need to feel you.” 

Stiles blew out a shaky breath and lifted his hand, gently settling the palm over the _claddagh_. 

“Okay.” 

Derek watched his face as his fingers moved over the lines of his name, etched in Derek’s skin. Honeyed gold tracked every movement, shifting from the tattoo to the muscle, a thumb brushing one nipple, the flesh drawing taut with stimulus. He kept his eyes open as Stiles' touch smoothed over the bones of his collar, over the ball of his shoulder, down his arm, fingers gently skipping along the inside curve of his elbow and the smooth, hairless underside of one forearm. 

Then Stiles shifted a little, backtracking up, over Derek’s ribs and he stifled a laugh when the magus pressed between bones, prodding and testing until Derek jerked. 

“Ticklish.” 

Stiles lips parted with a bright smile, eyes promising all sorts of future torment. “Good to know.” 

He slid his fingers away from ribs, tips tracing each line defining Derek’s abs, tugged at the lip of his navel, and Derek smiled when Stiles shook his head. 

“Your fucking abs, man. So not fair.” 

Stiles bypassed the swell of his groin, shifting his body to better reach Derek’s thighs, his knees (another ticklish spot), over his shins and down to his toes. Derek’s eyes fluttered when Stiles traced upward on his right leg, awash in the warm sensations of _right, mate, home_ every stroke of Stiles touch thrumming through his body. Joy filled Derek up and he was sure he’d explode with it, more than ready to give all of that goodness to Stiles, knowing it would be returned to him ten-fold. 

“Would you,” Stiles cleared the hoarseness from his throat and Derek’s eyes opened. “Roll over, please?” 

Derek complied automatically. He sighed long and heavy, the last notes of air coming on a groan, when Stiles threaded those long, talented fingers through his hair, short nails scratching over his scalp. The younger man spent several minutes, sifting and tugging gently, and Derek could barely keep his eyes open. He shifted against the bed, his now fully engorged cock pressed down. He loved having his hair played with but when Stiles drew his nails over the curve of his neck, leaving little stinging lines in his wake, Derek groaned loud and his skin rippled with gooseflesh. 

“You like that?” 

Derek rumbled, a near purr carrying his words. “Yeah.” 

Stiles hummed to himself and continued downward, pressing into the heavy muscles of his shoulders, tripping over the knobs of his spine, fingers fluttering over his lower back to tease at the top of buttocks. Stiles paused, squirming a bit, and the scent of his arousal, something soft and fresh and uniquely _Stiles_ tickled Derek’s nose. 

“You can touch me there, too. Anywhere you want.” 

Stiles’ heart triple ticked, pulse surging higher, and he shifted closer to Derek, his toes tickling Derek’s side, one knee pressed tight just below an armpit, the other firm at Derek’s hip. He held his breath, waiting to see what Stiles would do next, then moaned, completely without shame when he felt two palms cover each glute, digits curling into the space between his ass and his thighs, and squeezed. 

“Oh my god, your _ass_.” 

Derek huffed a laugh into his pillow as he flexed the muscles, making the cheeks twitch in Stiles grasp. 

“Fuck, that is so hot.” 

It wasn’t nearly as hot as hearing Stiles voice, thick with desire and husky as the younger man’s arousal increased, but Derek repeated the motion anyway. 

Stiles grunted softly, hold tightening, before he spread his fingers, thumbs teasing the divide, tugging gently along the crack and Derek’s hips jerked, pushing his dick into the soft fabric of the bedding, legs spreading in a nonverbal gesture for Stiles to keep going. 

Stiles pulled with his thumbs and Derek rolled his hips in response, his moan turning to a whine, head coming off the pillow and turning so he could find the magus when his warmth and touch moved away. 

“Can I…” Stiles stood by the bed and motioned toward Derek’s bottom. 

“Yes.” Derek shifted, spreading his thighs much wider and slightly canting his pelvis up. 

Stiles’ pupils expanded until only a thin ring of amber edged the black and Derek finally let himself take in the very hard cock between his legs. It was long, curving gently up from the base, glans a fleshy pink and glistening in the light of the room, moisture kissing the skin above Stiles’ belly button and making it shine. 

It wasn’t as thick as Derek’s, but it was at least as long, and the upward curve of Stiles’ dick had him involuntarily clenching his ass, knowing in certain positions it would unerringly find all the perfect places deep inside Derek and take him to heights he’d never known. And that was something he could give Stiles, wanted to give him. No one, but himself, had ever touched the soft, warm depths of his body. 

That could wait, though. Right now was about Stiles being comfortable, learning Derek’s body, the feel of unencumbered skin against skin. They still hadn’t kissed and if Stiles hadn’t been climbing back on the bed, cock bobbing with the movement and Stiles’ pulse, Derek would have turned over and fixed that right then. 

Instead, he watched and waited while Stiles crossed his legs beneath him and settled, palming Derek’s ass again, thumbs pressing on the soft, shadowed place where all the parts of the Alpha joined together. Sighing his pleasure, Derek shifted his lower body and dropped his head to the pillow. 

Stiles’ scent soured slightly, a note of nerves, but his touch was steady and sure. He swept his thumbs over the high inside of each thigh, nails gently rasping against the thin skin of Derek’s scrotum before moving closer to his core and separating the globes to reveal the tightly furled pucker hidden between. 

Cool air kissed his flesh and Derek groaned, ass tightening on nothing. Stiles swallowed loudly and the air thickened with _caramel, vanilla,_ and _ozone_ , signature notes of the young man's arousal. Derek flexed his hips, barely teasing his aching cock along the soft cotton of the blanket beneath him. 

“Have you ever?” Stiles left thumb slid upward, just edging the outside rim, and Derek fought not to thrust backward into the touch. 

“No. Only me, my fingers. No one else.” 

Stiles released a soft whimper and Derek felt his upper body fold lower, warm air flowing over the dimples at the bottom of his spine, the soft fringe of Stiles’ bangs tickling slightly higher. 

“I’m so turned on right now, by dick is throbbing.” 

“Fuck, Stiles, you’re killing me.” His ass thrust back, shoving Stiles thumb past the edge to press hard at the center of Derek’s opening. 

“My god, let me, just let me-” 

Behind him Stiles was a flurry of movement, the bed jostling as he re-positioned himself and when Derek felt the first press of those dark pink, damp lips against his left butt cheek he couldn’t stop from grinding into the bed beneath him. 

“Please.” 

Stiles didn’t say anything with his voice, but his hands spoke volumes. He opened Derek wide, hot breath caressing skin untouched by another. Feather light, Derek felt the firm press of Stiles’ nose at the top of his crack and he whimpered as need and desire skyrocketed between them. 

The magus moved his hands, both thumbs shifting closer, making gentle passes over the tightly closed muscle, rubbing it before trailing down Derek’s perineum, catching on the semi-loose skin of his balls, pulling upward, the motion tugging at the base of Derek’s cock where it caught between his heavy body and the mattress. 

He tightened his hold on the pillow beneath his head and tried to steady his breathing. He wanted, no, he would let Stiles do whatever he wanted. But the slow, exploratory caresses his partner employed had his body buzzing and the wolf chaffing. It needed more and faster, to get every inch of their bodies in contact, press their scents into each other, twine their physical selves as tightly as their cells and magicks were already bound. 

Derek’s hunger seeped out his pores and maybe that motivated Stiles because when he next moved, shoulders brushing against the Alpha’s inner thighs, it wasn’t his thumbs but his tongue that swept over Derek’s hole, setting every nerve ending alight. 

“Oh, god.” He pushed back, instinct overriding his desire to be still and allow Stiles to set the pace. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The movement of Stiles' speech only teased the sensitive flesh, ratcheting Derek tighter, his cock flexing, belly and blanket dampening with precome. He shuddered, want a living, breathing beat in his blood and Stiles responded to Derek’s signals as he did everything else. 

He threw himself into figuring out the best solution, the strongest response, and in this case, Derek had a fleeting moment to think Stiles goal was pulling Derek apart and reordering the world. 

Stiles licked and licked, thumbs pressing into both wrinkled edges, making Derek give just a little. He drew back and down, his hot mouth leaving a slick path to the back of heavy, alpha testicles, then back up, swirling over his hole and higher, teeth teasing with gentle nips. He did this over and over, before a low, grumbling sound vibrated over Derek’s skin as Stiles pushed closer. 

He turned his focus from tasting and kissing and exploring toward laying a claim - that was the only way Derek could have explained it. This time, his tongue didn’t caress the tiny bud beneath it, but pressed into it, thumbs vying for space, long fingers splayed wide to hold Derek open to plunder. 

Stiles moaned, opened his mouth wider and licked with the broad, flat of his tongue, pushing just the tip of one thumb harder, until Derek gasped as the smallest intrusion was finally made. He began to shake when Stiles made a sound of approval and using both in combination, made Derek’s hole wetter and wetter, sliding more and more of his thumb inside the Alpha’s body until it was sunk to the first knuckle. 

“Oh god, Stiles, Stiles,” Derek tossed his head against the pillow, lifting his ass, so turned on the feel of Stiles gusting exhales against the moisture saturating Derek’s skin from top to taint had him scrambling to get a hand on his cock, to relieve some of the pressure. 

The magus caught his hand, pressing it to the bed and moving away, drawing a high whine of dissatisfaction from Derek. Stiles climbed over him, own slickened cockhead smearing over the right globe of Derek’s ass before knees tucked tight on either side of his hips. He turned his head, opened one eye to watch Stiles lean over him and into the bedside table. 

He slipped the drawer open, grinning with feral pleasure as he withdrew a tube of expensive lubricant. He paused for a moment, the wild look softening as he gazed into Derek’s face. 

“Is this okay?” 

“More than.” 

Stiles slid back to his original place, making sure every inch of their hot, slightly damp skin kissed as he went. Derek held his breath when he heard the cap of the bottle snap open. 

“Won’t need this for me,” the words came rough from Stiles lips. “Learned a trick a long time ago to make my own. Made fucking myself easier in off the beaten paths locales, without a Wal-Mart nearby… back when I still did that.” 

“Fuck me, sweet Jesus, Stiles,” Derek rutted the unbelievably savage hunger Stiles’ words evoked, out against the bed, grunting and fucking the now-wet cloth, rhythm lost as he imagined Stiles, opening himself up, slick dripping from his puffy hole, those long fingers stroking every sweet, sweet spot until he came. 

His movement had Stiles taking hold of Derek’s waist, stilling his body. When the older man had control, he let go, and Derek trembled as he listened to Stiles warming lube between his fingers until finally, finally, he felt the push of a slippery finger into his waiting hole. 

“Oh my god, you’re so hot, so soft,” wonder filled his tone and Stiles reflexively twitched the digit, making Derek curse and tighten his body in response. The constriction didn’t slow Stiles, though, and Derek moaned as he continued to press forward, until the digit was as deep as it could physically be. 

Then he withdrew until only the tip remained inside and pulled down, just enough to make Derek pant and twitch. More lube, cool against his heated tissue, trickled onto Derek and Stiles’ finger, and was slicked into Derek’s body when Stiles pushed forward anew. 

Derek lost track of anything beyond Stiles’ slow, meticulous dedication to penetrating his body, opening him up. Eventually, Stiles added another finger, then used his free thumb to hook around the rim of Derek’s hole and hold him open, dripping more lube straight inside instead of pushing it in on his fingers. 

Derek heard the steady string of unintelligent moans and whimpers and cries pouring from his mouth, but he had no control. His body became an instrument for Stiles to play, the music of their desire a perfect symphony of chords. His hips rolled, cock leaked freely, balls drawn up but not tight, every tendon and muscle on the verge of release but the end teasingly, achingly just out of reach. 

“You’re so beautiful, Derek. I never thought,” Stiles’ voice cracked as he spread his fingers, three now, and pulled- digits pressed hard against the channel holding them- out. “Oh, my god, I never thought I’d have this.” 

Derek whined, clenching around Stiles, feeling how moved his lover was in that moment and choking back a sob as well. As powerful emotions poured through Stiles, they reverberated through Derek, their connection an echo chamber and conduit between them. 

Stiles hand trembled but he thrust deep inside Derek again, thumb of the penetrating hand stroking up and down his taint. 

“I want to be in you, Derek. I want to see your face and taste your lips.” 

Derek didn’t even bother with words, ignoring the throb of _loss_ he felt when Stiles fingers left his body. He rolled over and grabbed Stiles’ shoulder, pulling the slimmer man over him, pressing his head back and exposing his throat when their cocks slid together. 

“Please,” he wasn’t begging, wasn’t really asking, more offering himself to Stiles, wanting to erase this last piece of distance between them. 

Long fingers, some of them tacky with lube, slid into his hair, pushed the long strands away from Derek’s face and he opened his eyes. Fell into the whiskey dark orbs of Stiles’ and he lifted his arms, bringing them around the best thing Derek had ever almost lost, one palm cupping the back of Stiles’ long neck, drawing his face down. 

“I love you.” Derek spoke against lips bitten puffy and opened under the pressure when Stiles surged against him in response. 

Derek had never kissed like this, with his whole self, everything he was a part of each touch and retreat, open and giving and receptive. He drew his legs up along Stiles’ hips, tightened his fingers in the warm, brown strands of his hair, dug the digits of his empty hand into the curve of Stiles’ back. 

He moaned and Stiles took the sound and returned it, his tongue tentatively slipping past first Derek’s lips, then his teeth, tasting, searching, learning every ridge and bump. They pulled their mouths apart only long enough to change angles to get deeper, closer. He had no idea how long they lay there, wrapped so tightly together, but when Stiles began to shake in his arms, Derek reluctantly pulled back, heavy lids slowly blinking open as he waited for Stiles to make the next move. 

“Worth the wait,” the softest smile turned up the corners of the young man’s mouth and despite the heady, serious depth of the moment, of what they were doing, Derek found himself chuckling in response. 

Stiles’ palm curled around the side of Derek’s face and his pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “You are so amazing, Derek. So good and I am so fucking thankful you’re mine.” 

Derek pressed up into Stiles, shuddering with everything he felt, wanted, had dreamed of for so long. “Forever, Stiles.” 

“Do you want to…” This time it was Stiles who rubbed their bodies together, both of them still so hard, still leaking precome copiously. 

“More than anything else.” Derek lifted his head just enough to capture soft, full lips, reluctant to break the kiss when Stiles began to ease back. 

“I don’t think I’ll -” 

Derek stopped him with a press of his palm over Stiles pounding heart. “Doesn’t matter. I’m on the edge anyway and we have hands for a reason.” 

Stiles laughed at this. “Yeah for the opposable thumbs.” 

Derek grunted but stayed silent, watching with rapt attention as Stiles poured lube into his palm, hissing and head falling back as he slicked it over what had to be his nearly painful erection. He stayed like that for a moment, relishing the slide of his skin against itself, and Derek responded by weeping another thick, shiny droplet of excitement. 

With a deep breath, Stiles took a firm grip at the base of his cock and looked down where Derek was spread open and waiting. “Tell me if I hurt you.” 

Derek shifted, sliding down, pushing his palms under his buttocks to grip his cheeks and hold his body wide for Stiles. “You won’t. I’m so wet, so soft and relaxed and ready for you.” 

It was Stiles turn to whimper at Derek’s words as he finally, god finally, pushed the broad, mushroom shaped glans against Derek’s body. It slid inside with little effort and Derek bore down, gasping when the crown settled beyond the clasp of his rim, pulling his legs up to get Stiles that much deeper. 

“Fuck, Derek, fuck.” Stiles hands flailed for a moment before he took firm hold of Derek’s bent legs, just above the knees, instinct driving him forward on his own, pushing Derek’s larger body up and back, making more room for Stiles to take and fill. 

Derek’s hands fell away to the bed sheet, fingers curling tight in the cloth. He arched his back the best he could, body contracting and relaxing as Stiles inched deeper and deeper until he permeated every empty space in Derek, physically, metaphysically, and emotionally. 

“Stiles, Stiles!” 

Kisses peppered his face. “I’m here, right here, Jesus, Derek, oh god…” Strong, lithe hips began to move, pumping deeper then withdrawing, long fingers digging into muscled thighs, leaving bruises that disappeared and reappeared over and over again. 

Stiles took his body as if he knew every, tiny motion, every caress or nip, guaranteed to reduce the Alpha to ashes. He released a litany of cries, as his body steadily contracted with anticipation, each wave coming faster than the last, ascending the mountain to ecstasy headlong and uncontrolled. 

“God, Derek, are you close? I’m, I’m gonna," Stiles broke off with a growl before readjusting and pistoning forward once more."Fuck, yes, take me, take me, take me…” 

There was no rhythm, Stiles pulling back to slam home, plunging deeper and deeper, harder and harder, the force of his thrusts pounding into Derek, moving his body further up the bed until he had to throw up a hand against the wall to stop the forward progression and give him some leverage to shove back. 

“All of you, everything. Stiles, make me come, you’re gonna make me come!” 

Stiles roared then and Derek howled in response, every muscle in his body locking tight, heels digging hard into the meat of Stiles ass as he exploded. Scalding, viscous pulses of seed painted the skin of both their bellies even as Stiles took himself home one last time, held immobile, pelvis flexing hard against Derek’s balls, emptying himself deep inside. 

They shook in the aftermath, Stiles collapsing atop Derek, sobbing quietly. Derek felt an echoing relief, his own eyes growing wet, overwhelmed by how complete he felt, grounded and safe and loved. Stiles moved, drawing his arms upward to cup his hands around Derek’s face and Derek finally uncurled his finger from the sheets. He wrapped his arms around his lover and simply held fast. 

They had a long way to go, an entire life of fights and makeups, family and friends, bad guys to put down and good guys to help up. And Derek couldn’t wait to experience all of it with the man in his arms. Thinking over his regrets, there were a lot of things Derek wished he could change, but right then, he had never been so thankful for all the times Stiles put Derek first and vice versa because it had finally brought them back to each other and he could never regret that. 

_Magna, mates_ , those were important, but they weren’t what mattered most. Their love, uncompromising and unbreakable, bound them more surely than any science or magical rite. 

“You’re my everything.” He whispered the words against the crown of Stiles’ head. 

“You’re my only.” 

Stiles sniffled softly and burrowed closer against Derek’s chest, the last tremblings of release and joy shaking free, spilling between them and Derek reciprocated his own feelings of completion and satisfaction. Existing in a world of just them, happily entangled, Derek pulled Stiles tighter and let himself drift off. 

They’d taken the long way to get to where they were, but right then? Life was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with everything I post, this is unbeta-ed (relatively, I am a professional writer so hopefully it's mostly clean). So please, if there is some glaring error I missed, let me know. Typos happen so any eagle-eyes out there that see some I've missed are awesome :)
> 
> I may come back to this world sometime in the future, but now that I've finally created something well... creative... I'm turning my attention to a couple of unfinished works. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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